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Adela Cathcart, Vol. 3 by George MacDonald

Part 3 out of 4

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would make a considerable impression on Teufelsbuerst's imagination, as
well as on his muscular sense. He then left everything else as nearly
undisturbed as he could; and, knowing all the ways of the house, was soon
in the street, without leaving any signs of his exit.

"Karl soon found himself before the house in which his friend Hoellenrachen
resided. Knowing his studious habits, he had hoped to see his light still
burning, nor was he disappointed. He contrived to bring him to his window,
and a moment after, the door was cautiously opened.

"'Why, Lottchen, where do you come from?'

"'From the grave, Heinrich, or next door to it.'

"'Come in, and tell me all about it. We thought the old painter had made a
model of you, and tortured you to death.'

"'Perhaps you were not far wrong. But get me a horn of ale, for even a
vampire is thirsty, you know.'

"'A vampire!' exclaimed Heinrich, retreating a pace, and involuntarily
putting himself upon his guard.

"Karl laughed.

"'My hand was warm, was it not, old fellow?' he said. Vampires are cold,
all but the blood.'

"'What a fool I am!' rejoined Heinrich. 'But you know we have been hearing
such horrors lately that a fellow may be excused for shuddering a little
when a pale-faced apparition tells him at two o'clock in the morning that
he is a vampire, and thirsty, too.'

"Karl told him the whole story; and the mental process of regarding it for
the sake of telling it, revealed to him pretty clearly some of the
treatment of which he had been unconscious at the time. Heinrich was quite
sure that his suspicions were correct. And now the question was, what was
to be done next?

"'At all events,' said Heinrich, 'we must keep you out of the way for some
time. I will represent to my landlady that you are in hiding from enemies,
and her heart will rule her tongue. She can let you have a garret-room, I
know; and I will do as well as I can to bear you company. We shall have
time then to invent some plan of operation.'

"To this proposal Karl agreed with hearty thanks, and soon all was
arranged. The only conclusion they could yet arrive at was, that somehow
or other the old demon-painter must be tamed.

"Meantime, how fared it with Lilith? She too had no doubt that she had
seen the body-ghost of poor Karl, and that the vampire had, according to
rule, paid her the first visit because he loved her best. This was
horrible enough if the vampire were not really the person he represented;
but if in any sense it were Karl himself, at least it gave some
expectation of a more prolonged existence than her father had taught her
to look for; and if love anything like her mother's still lasted, even
along with the habits of a vampire, there was something to hope for in the
future. And then, though he had visited her, he had not, as far as she was
aware, deprived her of a drop of blood. She could not be certain that he
had not bitten her, for she had been in such a strange condition of mind
that she might not have felt it, but she believed that he had restrained
the impulses of his vampire nature, and had left her, lest he should yet
yield to them. She fell fast asleep; and, when morning came, there was
not, as far as she could judge, one of those triangular leech-like
perforations to be found upon her whole body. Will it be believed that the
moment she was satisfied of this, she was seized by a terrible jealousy,
lest Karl should have gone and bitten some one else? Most people will
wonder that she should not have gone out of her senses at once; but there
was all the difference between a visit from a real vampire and a visit
from a man she had begun to love, even although she took him for a
vampire. All the difference does _not_ lie in a name. They were very
different causes, and the effects must be very different.

"When Teufelsbuerst came down in the morning, he crept into the studio like
a murderer. There lay the awful white block, seeming to his eyes just the
same as he had left it. What was to be done with it? He dared not open it.
Mould and model must go together. But whither? If inquiry should be made
after Wolkenlicht, and this were discovered anywhere on his premises,
would it not be enough to bring him at once to the gallows? Therefore it
would be dangerous to bury it in the garden, or in the cellar.

"'Besides,' thought he, with a shudder, 'that would be to fix the vampire
as a guest for ever.'--And the horrors of the past night rushed back upon
his imagination with renewed intensity. What would it be to have the dead
Karl crawling about his house for ever, now inside, now out, now sitting
on the stairs, now staring in at the windows?

"He would have dragged it to the bottom of his garden, past which the
Moldau flowed, and plunged it into the stream; but then, should the
spectre continue to prove troublesome, it would be almost impossible to
reach the body so as to destroy it by fire; besides which, he could not do
it without assistance, and the probability of discovery. If, however, the
apparition should turn out to be no vampire, but only a respectable ghost,
they might manage to endure its presence, till it should be weary of
haunting them.

"He resolved at last to convey the body for the meantime into a concealed
cellar in the house, seeing something must be done before his daughter
came down. Proceeding to remove it, his consternation as greatly increased
when he discovered how the body had grown in weight since he had thus
disposed of it, leaving on his mind scarcely a hope that it could turn out
not to be a vampire after all. He could scarcely stir it, and there was
but one whom he could call to his assistance--the old woman who acted as
his housekeeper and servant.

"He went to her room, roused her, and told her the whole story. Devoted to
her master for many years, and not quite so sensitive to fearful
influences as when less experienced in horrors, she showed immediate
readiness to render him assistance. Utterly unable, however, to lift the
mass between them, they could only drag and push it along; and such a slow
toil was it that there was no time to remove the traces of its track,
before Lilith came down and saw a broad white line leading from the door
of the studio down the cellar-stairs. She knew in a moment what it meant;
but not a word was uttered about the matter, and the name of Karl
Wolkenlicht seemed to be entirely forgotten.

"But how could the affairs of a house go on all the same when every one of
the household knew that a dead body lay in the cellar?--nay more, that,
although it lay still and dead enough all day, it would come half alive at
nightfall, and, turning the whole house into a sepulchre by its presence,
go creeping about like a cat all over it in the dark--perhaps with
phosphorescent eyes? So it was not surprising that the painter abandoned
his studio early, and that the three found themselves together in the
gorgeous room formerly described, as soon as twilight began to fall.

"Already Teufelsbuerst had begun to experience a kind of shrinking from the
horrid faces in his own pictures, and to feel disgusted at the abortions
of his own mind. But all that he and the old woman now felt was an
increasing fear as the night drew on, a kind of sickening and paralysing
terror. The thing down there would not lie quiet--at least its phantom in
the cellars of their imagination would not. As much as possible, however,
they avoided alarming Lilith, who, knowing all they knew, was as silent as
they. But her mind was in a strange state of excitement, partly from the
presence of a new sense of love, the pleasure of which all the atmosphere
of grief into which it grew could not totally quench. It comforted her
somehow, as a child may comfort when his father is away.

"Bedtime came, and no one made a move to go. Without a word spoken on the
subject, the three remained together all night; the elders nodding and
slumbering occasionally, and Lilith getting some share of repose on a
couch. All night the shape of death might be somewhere about the house;
but it did not disturb them. They heard no sound, saw no sight; and when
the morning dawned, they separated, chilled and stupid, and for the time
beyond fear, to seek repose in their private chambers. There they remained
equally undisturbed.

"But when the painter approached his easel a few hours after, looking more
pale and haggard still than he was wont, from the fears of the night, a
new bewilderment took possession of him. He had been busy with a fresh
embodiment of his favourite subject, into which he had sketched the form
of the student as the sufferer. He had represented poor Wolkenlicht as
just beginning to recover from a trance, while a group of surgeons,
unaware of the signs of returning life, were absorbed in a minute
dissection of one of the limbs. At an open door he had painted Lilith
passing, with her face buried in a bunch of sweet peas. But when he came
to the picture, he found, to his astonishment and terror, that the face of
one of the group was now turned towards that of the victim, regarding his
revival with demoniac satisfaction, and taking pains to prevent the others
from discovering it. The face of this prince of torturers was that of
Teufelsbuerst himself. Lilith had altogether vanished, and in her place
stood the dim vampire reiteration of the body that lay extended on the
table, staring greedily at the assembled company. With trembling hands the
painter removed the picture from the easel, and turned its face to the
wall.

"Of course this was the work of Lottchen. When he left the house, he took
with him the key of a small private door, which was so seldom used that,
while it remained closed, the key would not be missed, perhaps for many
months. Watching the windows, he had chosen a safe time to enter, and had
been hard at work all night on these alterations. Teufelsbuerst attributed
them to the vampire, and left the picture as he found it, not daring to
put brush to it again.

"The next night was passed much after the same fashion. But the fear had
begun to die away a little in the hearts of the women, who did not know
what had taken place in the studio on the previous night. It burrowed,
however, with gathered force in the vitals of Teufelsbuerst. But this night
likewise passed in peace; and before it was over, the old woman had taken
to speculating in her own mind as to the best way of disposing of the
body, seeing it was not at all likely to be troublesome. But when the
painter entered his studio in trepidation the next morning, he found that
the form of the lovely Lilith was painted out of every picture in the
room. This could not be concealed; and Lilith and the servant became aware
that the studio was the portion of the house in haunting which the vampire
left the rest in peace.

"Karl recounted all the tricks he had played to his friend Heinrich, who
begged to be allowed to bear him company the following night. To this Karl
consented, thinking it would be considerably more agreeable to have a
companion. So they took a couple of bottles of wine and some provisions
with them, and before midnight found themselves snug in the studio. They
sat very quiet for some time, for they knew that if they were seen, two
vampires would not be so terrible as one, and might occasion discovery.
But at length Heinrich could bear it no longer. "'I say, Lottchen, let's
go and look; for your dead body. What has the old beggar done with it?'

"'I think I know. Stop; let me peep out. All right! Come along.'

"With a lamp in his hand, he led the way to the cellars, and after
searching about a little they discovered it.

"'It looks horrid enough,' said Heinrich, 'but think a drop or two of wine
would brighten it up a little.'

"So he took a bottle from his pocket, and after they had had a glass
apiece, he dropped a third in blots all over the plaster. Being red wine,
it had the effect Hoellenrachen desired.

"'When they visit it next, they will know that the vampire can find the
food he prefers,' said he.

"In a corner close by the plaster, they found the clothes Karl had worn.

"'Hillo!' said Heinrich, 'we'll make something of this find.'

"So he carried them with him to the studio. There he got hold of the
lay-figure.

"'What are you about, Heinrich?'

"'Going to make a scarecrow to keep the ravens off old Teufel's pictures,'
answered Heinrich, as he went on dressing the lay-figure in Karl's
clothes. He next seated the creature at an easel with its back to the
door, so that it should be the first thing the painter should see when he
entered. Karl meant to remove this before he went, for it was too comical
to fall in with the rest of his proceedings. But the two sat down to their
supper, and by the time they had finished the wine, they thought they
should like to go to bed. So they got up and went home, and Karl forgot
the lay-figure, leaving it in busy motionlessness all night before the
easel.

"When Teufelsbuerst saw it, he turned and fled with a cry that brought his
daughter to his help. He rushed past her, able only to articulate:

"The vampire! The vampire! Painting!'

"Far more courageous than he, because her conscience was more peaceful,
Lilith passed on to the studio. She too recoiled a step or two when she
saw the figure; but with the sight of the back of Karl, as she supposed it
to be, came the longing to see the face that was on the other side. So she
crept round and round by the wall, as far off as she could. The figure
remained motionless. It was a strange kind of shock that she experienced
when she saw the face, disgusting from its inanity. The absurdity next
struck her; and with the absurdity flashed into her mind the conviction
that this was not the doing of a vampire; for of all creatures under the
moon, he could not be expected to be a humorist. A wild hope sprang up in
her mind that Karl was not dead. Of this she soon resolved to make herself
sure.

"She closed the door of the studio; in the strength of her new hope
undressed the figure, put it in its place, concealed the garments--all the
work of a few minutes; and then, finding her father just recovering from
the worst of his fear, told him there was nothing in the studio but what
ought to be there, and persuaded him to go and see. He not only saw no
one, but found that no further liberties had been taken with his pictures.
Reassured, he soon persuaded himself that the spectre in this case had
been the offspring of his own terror-haunted brain. But he had no spirit
for painting now. He wandered about the house, himself haunting it like a
restless ghost.

"When night came, Lilith retired to her own room. The waters of fear had
begun to subside in the house; but the painter and his old attendant did
not yet follow her example.

"As soon, however, as the house was quite still, Lilith glided noiselessly
down the stairs, went into the studio, where as yet there assuredly was no
vampire, and concealed herself in a corner.

"As it would not do for an earnest student like Heinrich to be away from
his work very often, he had not asked to accompany Lottchen this time. And
indeed Karl himself, a little anxious about the result of the scarecrow,
greatly preferred going alone.

"While she was waiting for what might happen, the conviction grew upon
Lilith, as she reviewed all the past of the story, that these phenomena
were the work of the real Karl, and of no vampire. In a few moments she
was still more sure of this. Behind the screen where she had taken refuge,
hung one of the pictures out of which her portrait had been painted the
night before last. She had taken a lamp with her into the studio, with the
intention of extinguishing it the moment she heard any sign of approach;
but as the vampire lingered, she began to occupy herself with examining
the picture beside her. She had not looked at it long, before she wetted
the tip of her forefinger, and began to rub away at the obliteration. Her
suspicions were instantly confirmed: the substance employed was only a
gummy wash over the paint. The delight she experienced at the discovery
threw her into a mischievous humour.

"'I will see,' she said to herself, 'whether I cannot match Karl
Wolkenlicht at this game.'

"In a closet in the room hung a number of costumes, which Lilith had at
different times worn for her father. Among them was a large white drapery,
which she easily disposed as a shroud. With the help of some chalk, she
soon made herself ghastly enough, and then placing her lamp on the floor
behind the screen, and setting a chair over it, so that it should throw no
light in any direction, she waited once more for the vampire. Nor had she
much longer to wait. She soon heard a door move, the sound of which she
hardly knew, and then the studio door opened. Her heart beat dreadfully,
not with fear lest it should be a vampire after all, but with hope that it
was Karl. To see him once more was too great joy. Would she not make up to
him for all her coldness! But would he care for her now? Perhaps he had
been quite cured of his longing for a hard heart like hers. She peeped. It
was he sure enough, looking as handsome as ever. He was holding his light
to look at her last work, and the expression of his face, even in
regarding her handiwork, was enough to let her know that he loved her
still. If she had not seen this, she dared not have shown herself from her
hiding-place. Taking the lamp in her hand, she got upon the chair, and
looked over the screen, letting the light shine from below upon her face.
She then made a slight noise to attract Karl's attention. He looked up,
evidently rather startled, and saw the face of Lilith in the air. He gave
a stifled cry threw himself on his knees with his arms stretched towards
her, and moaned--

"'I have killed her! I have killed her!'

"Lilith descended, and approached him noiselessly. He did not move. She
came close to him and said--

"'Are you Karl Wolkenlicht?'

"His lips moved, but no sound came.

"'If you are a vampire, and I am a ghost,' she said--but a low happy laugh
alone concluded the sentence.

"Karl sprang to his feet. Lilith's laugh changed into a burst of sobbing
and weeping, and in another moment the ghost was in the arms of the
vampire.

"Lilith had no idea how far her father had wronged Karl, and though, from
thinking over the past, he had no doubt that the painter had drugged him,
he did not wish to pain her by imparting this conviction. But Lilith was
afraid of a reaction of rage and hatred in her father after the terror was
removed; and Karl saw that he might thus be deprived of all further
intercourse with Lilith, and all chance of softening the old man's heart
towards him; while Lilith would not hear of forsaking him who had banished
all the human race but herself. They managed at length to agree upon a
plan of operation.

"The first thing they did was to go to the cellar where the plaster mass
lay, Karl carrying with him a great axe used for cleaving wood. Lilith
shuddered when she saw it, stained as it was with the wine Heinrich had
spilt over it, and almost believed herself the midnight companion of a
vampire after all, visiting with him the terrible corpse in which he lived
all day. But Karl soon reassured her; and a few good blows of the axe
revealed a very different core to that which Teufelsbuerst supposed to be
in it. Karl broke it into pieces, and with Lilith's help, who insisted on
carrying her share, the whole was soon at the bottom of the Moldau and
every trace of its ever having existed removed. Before morning, too, the
form of Lilith had dawned anew in every picture. There was no time to
restore to its former condition the one Karl had first altered; for in it
the changes were all that they seemed; nor indeed was he capable of
restoring it in the master's style; but they put it quite out of the way,
and hoped that sufficient time might elapse before the painter thought of
it again.

"When they had done, and Lilith, for all his entreaties, would remain with
him no longer, Karl took his former clothes with him, and having spent the
rest of the night in his old room, dressed in them in the morning. When
Teufelsbuerst entered his studio next day, there sat Karl, as if nothing
had happened, finishing the drawing on which he had been at work when the
fit of insensibility came upon him. The painter started, stared, rubbed
his eyes, thought it was another spectral illusion, and was on the point
of yielding to his terror, when Karl rose, and approached him with a
smile. The healthy, sunshiny countenance of Karl, let him be ghost or
goblin, could not fail to produce somewhat of a tranquilizing effect on
Teufelsbuerst. He took his offered hand mechanically, his countenance
utterly vacant with idiotic bewilderment. Karl said:

"'I was not well, and thought it better to pay a visit to a friend for a
few days; but I shall soon make up for lost time, for I am all right now.'

"He sat down at once, taking no notice of his master's behaviour, and went
on with his drawing. Teufelsbuerst stood staring at him for some minutes
without moving, then suddenly turned and left the room. Karl heard him
hurrying down the cellar stairs. In a few moments he came up again. Karl
stole a glance at him. There he stood in the same spot, no doubt more full
of bewilderment than ever, but it was not possible that his face should
express more. At last he went to his easel, and sat down with a long-drawn
sigh as if of relief. But though he sat at his easel, he painted none that
day; and as often as Karl ventured a glance, he saw him still staring at
him. The discovery that his pictures were restored to their former
condition aided, no doubt, in leading him to the same conclusion as the
other facts, whatever that conclusion might be--probably that he had been
the sport of some evil power, and had been for the greater part of a week
utterly bewitched. Lilith had taken care to instruct the old woman, with
whom she was all-powerful; and as neither of them showed the smallest
traces of the astonishment which seemed to be slowly vitrifying his own
brain, he was at last perfectly satisfied that things had been going on
all right everywhere but in his inner man; and in this conclusion he
certainly was not far wrong, in more senses than one. But when all was
restored again to the old routine, it became evident that the peculiar
direction of his art in which he had hitherto indulged had ceased to
interest him. The shock had acted chiefly upon that part of his mental
being which had been so absorbed. He would sit for hours without doing
anything, apparently plunged in meditation.--Several weeks elapsed without
any change, and both Lilith and Karl were getting dreadfully anxious about
him. Karl paid him every attention; and the old man, for he now looked
much older than before, submitted to receive his services as well as those
of Lilith. At length, one morning, he said in a slow thoughtful tone:

"'Karl Wolkenlicht, I should like to paint you.'

"'Certainly, sir,' answered Karl, jumping up, 'where would you like me to
sit?'

"So the ice of silence and inactivity was broken, and the painter drew and
painted; and the spring of his art flowed once more; and he made a
beautiful portrait of Karl--a portrait without evil or suffering. And as
soon as he had finished Karl, he began once more to paint Lilith; and when
he had painted her, he composed a picture for the very purpose of
introducing them together; and in this picture there was neither ugliness
nor torture, but human feeling and human hope instead. Then Karl knew that
he might speak to him of Lilith; and he spoke, and was heard with a smile.
But he did not dare to tell him the truth of the vampire story till one
day that Teufelsbuerst was lying on the floor of a room in Karl's ancestral
castle, half smothered in grandchildren; when the only answer it drew from
the old man was a kind of shuddering laugh and the words--'Don't speak of
it, Karl, my boy!'"

* * * * *

No one had interrupted Harry. His brother had put a shovelful of coals on
the fire, to keep up the flame; but not a word had been spoken. The cold
moon had shone in at the windows all the time, her light made yet colder
by the snowy sheen from the face of the earth; and any horror that the
story could generate had had full freedom to operate on the minds of the
listeners.

"Well, I'm glad its over, for my part," said Mrs. Bloomfield. "It made my
flesh creep."

"I do not see any good in founding a story upon a superstition. One knows
it is false, all the time," said Mrs. Cathcart.

"But," said Harry, "all that I have related might have taken place; for
the story is not founded on the superstition itself, but on the belief of
the people of the time in the superstition. I have merely used this belief
to give the general tone to the story, and sometimes the particular
occasion for events in it, the vampire being a terrible fact to those
times."

"You write," said the curate, "as if you quoted occasionally from some
authority."

"The story of John Kuntz, as well as that of the shoemaker, is told by
Henry More in his _Antidote against Atheism_. He believed the whole
affair. His authority is Martin Weinrich, a Silesian doctor. I have only
taken the liberty of shifting the scene of the _post-mortem_ exploits of
Kuntz from a town of Silesia to Prague."

"Well, Harry," said his sister-in-law, "if your object was to frighten us,
I confess that I for one was tolerably uncomfortable. But I don't know
that that is a very high aim in story-telling."

"If that were all--certainly not," replied Harry, glancing towards Adela,
who had not spoken. Nor did she speak yet. But her expression showed
plainly enough that it was not the horror of the story that had taken
chief hold of her mind. Her face was full of suppressed light, and she was
evidently satisfied--or shall I call it _gratified_?--as well as delighted
with the tale. Something or other in it had touched her not only deeply,
but nearly.

Nothing was said about another meeting--perhaps because, from Adela's
illness, the order had been interrupted, and the present had required a
special summons.

The ladies had gone up stairs to put on their bonnets. I had crossed into
the library, which was on the same floor with the drawing-room, to find
out if I was right in supposing I had seen some volumes of Henry More's
works on the shelves--certainly the colonel could never have bought them.
Our host, the curate and the schoolmaster had followed me. Harry had
remained behind in the drawing-room. Thinking of something I wanted to say
to him before he went, I left the gentlemen looking over the book-shelves,
and went to cross again to the drawing-room. But when I reached the door,
there stood at the top of the stair, Adela and Harry. She had evidently
just said something warm about the story. I could almost read what she had
said still lingering on her face, which was turned up a good deal to look
into his, so near each other were they standing. Hers had a rosy flush as
of sunset over it, while his glowed like the sun rising in a mist.
Evidently the pleasures of giving and receiving were in this case nearly
equal. But they were not of long duration; for the moment I appeared, they
bade each other a hurried good night, and parted. I, thinking it better to
pretermit my speech to Harry, retreated into the library, and was glad to
think that no one had seen that conference but myself. Such a conjunction
of planets prefigured, however, not merely warm spring weather, but sultry
gloom, and thunderous clouds to follow; and although I was delighted with
my astronomical observation, I could not help growing anxious about the
omen.

CHAPTER VII.

THE CASTLE.

The next day, as I passed the school-house on my way to call on the
curate, I heard such an uproar that I stopped involuntarily to listen. I
soon satisfied myself that it was only the usual water-spout occasioned on
the ocean of boyhood by the vacuum of the master. As soon as I entered the
curate's study, there stood the missing master, hat in hand. He had not
sat down, and would not, hearing all the time, no doubt, in his soul, the
far confusion of his forsaken realm. He had but that moment entered.

"You come just in the right time, Smith," said the curate.--We had already
dropped unnecessary prefixes.--"Here is Mr. Bloomfield come to ask us to
spend a final evening with him and Mrs. Bloomfield. And in the name of the
whole company, I have taken upon me to assure him that it will give us
pleasure. Am I not right?"

"Undoubtedly," I replied. "What evening have you fixed upon, Mr.
Bloomfield?"

"This day week," he answered. "Shall I tell you why I put it off so long?"

"If you please."

"I heard your brother, Mr. Armstrong, say that you were very fond of
parables. Now I have always had a leaning that way myself; and for years I
have had one in particular glimmering before my mental sight. The ambition
seized me, to write it out for one of our meetings, and so submit it to
your judgment; for, Mr. Armstrong, I am so delighted with your sermons and
opinions generally, that I long to let you know that I am not only
friendly, but capable of sympathizing with you. But it is only in the
rough yet, and I want to have plenty of time to act the dutiful bear to my
offspring, and lick it into thorough shape. So if you will come this day
week, Mrs. Bloomfield and I will be delighted to entertain you in our
humble fashion. But, bless me! the boys will be all in a heap of confusion
worse confounded before I get back to them. I have no business to be away
from them at this hour. Good morning, gentlemen."

And off ran the worthy Neptune, to quell, by the vision of his returning
head, the rebellious waves of boyish impulse.

"That man will be a great comfort to you, Armstrong," I said.

"I know he will. He is a far-seeing, and what is better, a far-feeling
man."

"There is true wealth in him, it seems to me, although it may be of narrow
reach in expression," said I.

"I think so, quite. He seems to me to be one of those who have never grown
robust because they have laboured in-doors instead of going out to work in
the open air. There is a shrinking delicacy about him when with those whom
he doesn't feel to be of his own kind, which makes him show to a
disadvantage. But you should see him amongst his boys to do him justice."

We were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Armstrong, who came, after
their simple fashion, to tell her husband that dinner was ready. I took my
leave.

In the evening, Mrs. Bloomfield called to invite Adela and the colonel;
and the affair was settled for that day week.

"You're much better, my dear, are you not?" said the worthy woman to my
niece.

"Indeed I am, Mrs. Bloomfield. I could not have believed it possible that
I should be so much better in so short a time--and at this season of the
year too."

"Mr. Armstrong is a very clever young man, I think; though I can't say I
quite relished that extraordinary story of his."

"I suppose he is clever," replied Adela, something demurely as I thought.
"I must say I liked the story."

"Ah, well! Young people, you know, Mr. Smith--But, bless me! I'm sure I
beg your pardon. I had forgotten you weren't a married man. Of course
you're one of the young people too, Mr. Smith."

"I don't think there's much of youth to choose between you and me, Mrs.
Bloomfield," said I, "if I may venture to say so. But I fear I do belong
to the young people, if a liking for extravagant stories, so long as they
mean well, you know--is to be the test of the classification. I fear I
have a depraved taste, that way. I don't mean in this particular instance,
though, Adela."

"I hope not," answered Adela, with a blushing smile, which I, at least,
could read, having had not merely the key to it, but the open door and
window as well, ever since I had seen the two standing together at the top
of the stair.

That night the weather broke. A slow thaw set in; and before many days
were over, islands of green began to appear amid the "wan water" of the
snow--to use a phrase common in Scotch ballads, though with a different
application. The graves in the churchyard lifted up their green altars of
earth, as the first whereon to return thanks for the prophecy of spring;
which, surely, if it has force and truth anywhere, speaks loudest to us in
the churchyard. And on Sunday the sun broke out and shone on the green
hillocks, just as good old Mr. Venables was reading the words, "I will not
leave you comfortless--I will come to you."

And the ice vanished from the river, and the dark stream flowed, somewhat
sullen, but yet glad at heart, on through the low meadows bordered with
pollards, which, poor things, maltreated and mutilated, yet did the best
they could, and went on growing wildly in all insane shapes--pitifully
mingling formality and grotesqueness.

And the next day the hounds met at Castle Irksham. And that day Colonel
Cathcart would ride with them.

For the good man had gathered spirit just as the light grew upon his
daughter's face. And he was merry like a boy now that the first breath of
spring--for so it seemed, although no doubt plenty of wintriness remained
and would yet show itself--had loosened the hard hold of the frost, which
is the death of Nature. The frost is hard upon old people; and the spring
is so much the more genial and blessed in its sweet influences on them. Do
we grow old that, in our weakness and loss of physical self-assertion, we
may learn the benignities of the universe--only to be learned first
through the feeling of their want?--I do not envy the man who laughs the
east wind to scorn. He can never know the balmy power of its sister of the
west, which is the breath of the Lord, the symbol of the one _genial_
strength at the root of all life, resurrection, and growth--commonly
called the Spirit of God.--Who has not seen, as the infirmities of age
grow upon old men, the haughty, self-reliant spirit that had neglected, if
not despised the gentle ministrations of love, grow as it were a little
scared, and begin to look about for some kindness; begin to return the
warm pressure of the hand, and to submit to be waited upon by the anxiety
of love? Not in weakness alone comes the second childhood upon men, but
often in childlikeness; for in old age as in nature, to quote the song of
the curate,

Old Autumn's fingers
Paint in hues of Spring.

The necessities of the old man prefigure and forerun the dawn of the
immortal childhood. For is not our necessity towards God our highest
blessedness--the fair cloud that hangs over the summit of existence? Thank
God, he has made his children so noble and high that they cannot do
without Him! I believe we are sent into this world just to find this out.

But to leave my reflections and return to my story--such as it is. The
colonel mounted me on an old horse of his, "whom," to quote from Sir
Philip Sidney's _Arcadia_, "though he was near twenty years old, he
preferred for a piece of sure service, before a great number of younger."
Now the piece of sure service, in the present instance, was to take care
of old John Smith, who was only a middling horseman, though his friend,
the colonel, would say that he rode pretty well for a lad. The old horse,
in fact, knew not only what he could do, but what I could do, for our
powers were about equal. He looked well about for the gaps and the
narrow places. From weakness in his forelegs, he had become a capital
buck-jumper, as I think Cathcart called him, always alighting over a hedge
on his hind legs, instead of his fore ones, which was as much easier for
John Smith as for Hop o' my Thumb--that was the name of the old horse, he
being sixteen hands, at least. But I beg my reader's pardon for troubling
him with all this about my horse, for, assuredly, neither he nor I will
perform any deed of prowess in his presence. But I have the weakness of
garrulity in regard to a predilection from the indulgence of which
circumstances have debarred me.

At nine o'clock my friend and I started upon hacks for the meet. Now, I am
not going to describe the "harrow and weal away!" with which the soul of
poor Reynard is hunted out of the world--if, indeed, such a clever wretch
can have a soul. I daresay--I hope, at least, that the argument of the
fox-hunter is analogically just, who, being expostulated with on the
cruelty of fox-hunting, replied--"Well, you know, the hounds like it; and
the horses like it; and there's no doubt the men like it--and who knows
whether the fox doesn't like it too?" But I would not have introduced the
subject except for the sake of what my reader will find in the course of a
page or two, and which assuredly is not fox-hunting.

We soon found. But just before, a sudden heavy noise, coming apparently
from a considerable distance, made one or two of the company say, with
passing curiosity: "What is that?" It was instantly forgotten, however, as
soon as the fox broke cover. He pointed towards Purley-bridge. We had
followed for some distance, circumstances permitting Hop o' my Thumb to
keep in the wake of his master, when the colonel, drawing rein, allowed
me--I ought to say _us_, for the old horse had quite as much voice in the
matter as I had--to come up with him.

"The cunning old dog!" said he. "He has run straight for the deepest
cutting in the railway. They'll all be pounded presently! They don't know
this part so well as I do. I know every field and gate in it. I used to go
larking over it all when I was only a cub myself. Confound it! I'm not up
to much to-day. I suppose I'm getting old, you know; or I'd strike off
here at right angles to the left, and make for the bridge at Crumple's
Corner. I should lose the hounds though, I fear. I wonder what his
lordship will do."

All the time my old friend was talking, we were following the rest of the
field, whom, sure enough, as soon as we got into the next inclosure, we
saw drawing up one after another on the top of the railway cutting, which
ran like the river of death between them and the fox-hunter's paradise.
But at the moment we entered this field, whom should we see approaching us
at right angles, from the direction of Purleybridge, but Harry Armstrong,
mounted on _the_ mare! I rode towards him.

"Trapped, you see," said I. "Are you after the fox--or some nobler game?"

"I was going my rounds," answered Harry, "when I caught sight of the
hounds. I have no very pressing case to day, so I turned a few yards out
of the road to see a bit of the sport. Confound these railways!"

At the moment--and all this passed, as the story-teller is so often
compelled to remind his reader, in far less time than it takes to tell--
over the hedge on the opposite side from where Harry had entered the
field, blundered a country fellow, on a great, heavy, but spirited horse,
and ploughed his way up the soft furrow to where we stood.

"Doctor!" he cried, half-breathless with haste and exertion--"Doctor!"

"Well?" answered Henry, alert.

"There's a awful accident at Grubblebon Quarry, sir. Powder blowed up.
Legs and arms! Good God! sir, make haste."

"Well," said Harry, whose compressed lips alone gave sign of his being
ready for action, "ride to the town, and tell my housekeeper to give you
bandages and wadding and oil, and splints, and whatever she knows to be
needful. Are there many hurt?"

"Half a dozen alive, sir."

"Then you'd better let the other doctors know as well. And just tell my
man to saddle Jilter and take him to by brother, the curate. He had better
come out at once. Ride now."

"I _will_, sir," said the man, and was over the hedge in another minute.

But not before Harry was over the railway. For he rode gently towards it,
as if nothing particular was to be done, and chose as the best spot one
close to where several of the gentlemen stood, disputing for a moment as
to which was the best way to get across. Now on the top of the cutting
there was a rail, and between the rail and the edge of the cutting a space
of about four feet. Harry trotted his mare gently up to the rail, and went
over. Nor was the mutual confidence of mare and master misplaced from
either side. She lighted and stood stock still within a foot of the slope,
so powerful was she to stop herself. An uproar of cries arose among the
men. I heard the old soldier's voice above them all.

"Damn you, Armstrong, you fool!" he cried; "you'll break your neck, and
serve you right too!"

I don't know a stronger proof that the classical hell has little hold on
the faith of the Saxons, than that good-hearted and true men will not
unfrequently damn their friends when they are most anxious to save them.
But before the words were half out of the colonel's mouth, Harry was
half-way down the cutting. He had gone straight at it like a cat, and it
was of course the only way. I had galloped to the edge after him, and now
saw him, or rather her, descending by a succession of rebounds--not
bounds--a succession, in fact, of short falls upon the fore-legs, while
Harry's head was nearly touching her rump. Arrived at the bottom, she gave
two bounds across the rails, and the same moment was straining right up
the opposite bank in a fierce agony of effort, Harry hanging upon her
neck. Now the mighty play of her magnificent hind quarters came into
operation. I could see, plainly enough across the gulf, the alternate
knotting and loosening of the thick muscles as, step by step, she tore her
way up the grassy slope. It was a terrible trial of muscle and wind, and
very few horses could have stood it. As she neared the top, her pace grew
slower and slower, and the exertion more and more severe. If she had given
in, she would have rolled to the bottom, but nothing was less in her
thoughts. Her master never spurred or urged her, except it may have been
by whispering in her ear, to which his mouth was near enough: he knew she
needed no excitement to that effort. At length the final heave of her
rump, as it came up to a level with her withers, told the breathless
spectators that the attempt was a success, when a loud "Hurrah for the
doctor and his mare!" burst from their lips. The doctor, however, only
waved his hand in acknowledgment, for he had all to do yet. Fortunately
there was space enough between the edge and the fence on that side to
allow of his giving his mare a quarter of a circle of a gallop before
bringing her up to the rail, else in her fatigue she might have failed to
top it. Over she went and away, with her tail streaming out behind her, as
if she had done nothing worth thinking about, once it was done. One more
cheer for the doctor--but no one dared to follow him. They scattered in
different directions to find a less perilous crossing. I stuck by my
leader.

"By Jove! Cathcart," said Lord Irksham, as they parted, "that doctor of
yours is a hero. He ought to have been bred a soldier."

"He's better employed, my lord," bawled the old colonel; for they were now
a good many yards asunder, making for different points in the hedge. From
this answer, I hoped well for the doctor. At all events, the colonel
admired his manliness more than ever, and that was a great thing. For me,
I could hardly keep down the expression of an excitement which I did not
wish to show. It was a great relief to me when the _hurrah!_ arose, and I
could let myself off in that way. I told you, kind reader, I was only an
old boy. But, as the Arabs always give God thanks when they see a
beautiful woman, and quite right too! so, in my heart, I praised God who
had made a mare with such muscles, and a man with such a heart. And I said
to myself, "A fine muscle is a fine thing; but the finest muscle of all,
keeping the others going too, is the heart itself. That is the true
Christian muscle. And the real muscular Christianity is that which pours
in a life-giving torrent from the devotion of the heart, receiving only
that it may give."

But I fancy I hear my reader saying,

"Mr. Smith, you've forgotten the fox. What a sportsman you make!"

Well, I had forgotten the fox. But then we didn't kill him or find another
that day. So you won't care for the rest of the run.

I was tired enough by the time we got back to Purleybridge. I went early
to bed.

The next morning, the colonel, the moment we met at the breakfast table,
said to me,

"You did not hear, Smith, what that young rascal of a doctor said to Lord
Irksham last night?"

"No, what was it?"

"It seems they met again towards evening, and his lordship said to him:
'You hare-brained young devil!'--you know his lordship's rough way,"
interposed the colonel, forgetting how roundly he had sworn at Harry
himself, "'by the time you're my age, you'll be more careful of the few
brains you'll have left.' To which expostulated Master Harry replied: 'If
your lordship had been my age, and would have done it yourself to kill a
fox: when I am your lordship's age, I hope I shall have the grace left to
do as much to save a man.' Whereupon his lordship rejoined, holding out
his hand, 'By Jove! sir, you are an honour to your profession. Come and
dine with me on Monday.' And what do you think the idiot did?--Backed out
of it, and wouldn't go, because he thought his lordship condescending, and
he didn't want his patronage. But his lordship's not a bit like that, you
know."

"Then if he isn't, he'll like Harry all the better for declining, and will
probably send him a proper invitation."

And sure enough, I was right; and Harry did dine at Castle Irksham on
Monday.

Adela's eyes showed clearly enough that her ears were devouring every word
we had said; and the glow on her face could not be mistaken by me at
least, though to another it might well appear only the sign of such an
enthusiasm as one would like every girl to feel in the presence of noble
conduct of any kind. She had heard the whole story last night you may be
sure; and I do not doubt that the unrestrained admiration shown by her
father for the doctor's conduct, was a light in her heart which sleep
itself could not extinguish, and which went shining on in her dreams.
Admiration of the beloved is dear to a woman. You see I like to show that
although I _am_ an old bachelor, I know something about _them_.

I met Harry that morning; that is, I contrived to meet him.

"Well, how are you to-day, Harry?" I said.

"All right, thank you."

"Were there many hurt at the quarry?"

"Oh! it wasn't so very bad, I'm happy to say."

"You did splendidly yesterday."

"Oh, nonsense! It was my mare. It wasn't me. I had nothing to do with it."

"Well! well! you have my full permission to say so, and to think so, too."

"Well! well! say no more about it."

So it was long before the subject was again alluded to by me. But it will
be long, too, before it is forgotten in that county.

And so the evening came when we were to meet--for the last time as the
Story-telling club--at the schoolmaster's house. It was now past the time
I had set myself for returning to London, and although my plans were never
of a very unalterable complexion, seeing I had the faculty of being able
to write wherever I was, and never admitted chairs and tables, and certain
rows of bookshelves, to form part of my mental organism, without which the
rest of the mechanism would be thrown out of gear, I had yet reasons for
wishing to be in London; and I intended to take my departure on the day
but one after the final meeting.--I may just remark, that before this time
one or two families had returned to Purleybridge, and others were free
from their Christmas engagements, who would have been much pleased to join
our club; but, considering its ephemeral nature, and seeing it had been
formed only for what we hoped was a passing necessity, we felt that the
introduction of new blood, although essential for the long life of
anything constituted for long life, would only hasten the decay of its
butterfly constitution. So we had kept our meetings entirely to ourselves.

We all arrived about the same time, and found our host and hostess full of
quiet cordiality, to which their homeliness lent an additional charm. The
relation of host and guest is weakened by every addition to a company, and
in a large assembly all but disappears. Indeed, the tendency of the
present age is to blot from the story of every-day life all reminders of
the ordinary human relations, as commonplace and insignificant, and to
mingle all society in one concourse of atoms, in which the only
distinctions shall be those of _rank_; whereas the sole power to keep
social intercourse from growing stale is the recognition of the immortal
and true in all the simple human relations. Then we look upon all men with
reverence, and find ourselves safe and at home in the midst of divine
intents, which may be violated and striven with, but can never be escaped,
because the will of God is the very life and well-being of his creatures.

Mrs. Bloomfield looked very nice in her black silk dress, and collar and
cuffs of old lace, as she presided at the tea-table, and made us all feel
that it was a pleasure to her to serve us.

After repeated apologies, and confessions of failure, our host then read
the following _parable_, as he called it, though I daresay it would be
more correct to call it an _allegory_. But as that word has so many
wearisome associations, I, too, intend, whether right or wrong, to call it
a parable. So, then, it shall be:

"THE CASTLE: A PARABLE.

"On the top of a high cliff, forming part of the base of a great mountain,
stood a lofty castle. When or how it was built, no man knew; nor could any
one pretend to understand its architecture. Every one who looked upon it
felt that it was lordly and noble; and where one part seemed not to agree
with another, the wise and modest dared not to call them incongruous, but
presumed that the whole might be constructed on some higher principle of
architecture than they yet understood. What helped them to this conclusion
was, that no one had ever seen the whole of the edifice; that, even of the
portion best known, some part or other was always wrapped in thick folds
of mist from the mountain; and that, when the sun shone upon this mist,
the parts of the building that appeared through the vaporous veil were
strangely glorified in their indistinctness, so that they seemed to belong
to some aerial abode in the land of the sunset; and the beholders could
hardly tell whether they had ever seen them before, or whether they were
now for the first time partially revealed.

"Nor, although it was inhabited, could certain information be procured as
to its internal construction. Those who dwelt in it often discovered rooms
they had never entered before--yea, once or twice,--whole suites of
apartments, of which only dim legends had been handed down from former
times. Some of them expected to find, one day, secret places, filled with
treasures of wondrous jewels; amongst which they hoped to light upon
Solomon's ring, which had for ages disappeared from the earth, but which
had controlled the spirits, and the possession of which made a man simply
what a man should be, the king of the world. Now and then, a narrow,
winding stair, hitherto untrodden, would bring them forth on a new turret,
whence new prospects of the circumjacent country were spread out before
them. How many more of these there might be, or how much loftier, no one
could tell. Nor could the foundations of the castle in the rock on which
it was built be determined with the smallest approach to precision. Those
of the family who had given themselves to exploring in that direction,
found such a labyrinth of vaults and passages, and endless successions of
down-going stairs, out of one underground space into a yet lower, that
they came to the conclusion that at least the whole mountain was
perforated and honeycombed in this fashion. They had a dim consciousness,
too, of the presence, in those awful regions, of beings whom they could
not comprehend. Once they came upon the brink of a great black gulf, in
which the eye could see nothing but darkness: they recoiled with horror;
for the conviction flashed upon them that that gulf went down into the
very central spaces of the earth, of which they had hitherto been
wandering only in the upper crust; nay, that the seething blackness before
them had relations mysterious, and beyond human comprehension, with the
far-off voids of space, into which the stars dare not enter.

"At the foot of the cliff whereon the castle stood, lay a deep lake,
inaccessible save by a few avenues, being surrounded on all sides with
precipices which made the water look very black, although it was pure as
the night-sky. From a door in the castle, which was not to be otherwise
entered, a broad flight of steps, cut in the rock, went down to the lake,
and disappeared below its surface. Some thought the steps went to the very
bottom of the water.

"Now in this castle there dwelt a large family of brothers and sisters.
They had never seen their father or mother. The younger had been educated
by the elder, and these by an unseen care and ministration, about the
sources of which they had, somehow or other, troubled themselves very
little--for what people are accustomed to, they regard as coming from
nobody; as if help and progress and joy and love were the natural crops of
Chaos or old Night. But Tradition said that one day--it was utterly
uncertain _when_--their father would come, and leave them no more; for he
was still alive, though where he lived nobody knew. In the meantime all
the rest had to obey their eldest brother, and listen to his counsels.

"But almost all the family was very fond of liberty, as they called it;
and liked to run up and down, hither and thither, roving about, with
neither law nor order, just as they pleased. So they could not endure
their brother's tyranny, as they called it. At one time they said that he
was only one of themselves, and therefore they would not obey him; at
another, that he was not like them, and could not understand them, and
_therefore_ they would not obey him. Yet, sometimes, when he came and
looked them full in the face, they were terrified, and dared not disobey,
for he was stately and stern and strong. Not one of them loved him
heartily, except the eldest sister, who was very beautiful and silent, and
whose eyes shone as if light lay somewhere deep behind them. Even she,
although she loved him, thought him very hard sometimes; for when he had
once said a thing plainly, he could not be persuaded to think it over
again. So even she forgot him sometimes, and went her own ways, and
enjoyed herself without him. Most of them regarded him as a sort of
watchman, whose business it was to keep them in order; and so they were
indignant and disliked him. Yet they all had a secret feeling that they
ought to be subject to him; and after any particular act of disregard,
none of them could think, with any peace, of the old story about the
return of their father to his house. But indeed they never thought much
about it, or about their father at all; for how could those who cared so
little for their brother, whom they saw every day, care for their father
whom they had never seen?--One chief cause of complaint against him was
that he interfered with their favourite studies and pursuits; whereas he
only sought to make them give up trifling with earnest things, and seek
for truth, and not for amusement, from the many wonders around them. He
did not want them to turn to other studies, or to eschew pleasures; but,
in those studies, to seek the highest things most, and other things in
proportion to their true worth and nobleness. This could not fail to be
distasteful to those who did not care for what was higher than they. And
so matters went on for a time. They thought they could do better without
their brother; and their brother knew they could not do at all without
him, and tried to fulfil the charge committed into his hands.

"At length, one day, for the thought seemed to strike them simultaneously,
they conferred together about giving a great entertainment in their
grandest rooms to any of their neighbours who chose to come, or indeed to
any inhabitants of the earth or air who would visit them. They were too
proud to reflect that some company might defile even the dwellers in what
was undoubtedly the finest palace on the face of the earth. But what made
the thing worse, was, that the old tradition said that these rooms were to
be kept entirely for the use of the owner of the castle. And, indeed,
whenever they entered them, such was the effect of their loftiness and
grandeur upon their minds, that they always thought of the old story, and
could not help believing it. Nor would the brother permit them to forget
it now; but, appearing suddenly amongst them, when they had no expectation
of being interrupted by him, he rebuked them, both for the indiscriminate
nature of their invitation, and for the intention of introducing any one,
not to speak of some who would doubtless make their appearance on the
evening in question, into the rooms kept sacred for the use of the unknown
father. But by this time their talk with each other had so excited their
expectations of enjoyment, which had previously been strong enough, that
anger sprung up within them at the thought of being deprived of their
hopes, and they looked each other in the eyes; and the look said: 'We are
many and he is one--let us get rid of him, for he is always finding fault,
and thwarting us in the most innocent pleasures;--as if we would wish to
do anything wrong!' So without a word spoken, they rushed upon him; and
although he was stronger than any of them, and struggled hard at first,
yet they overcame him at last. Indeed some of them thought he yielded to
their violence long before they had the mastery of him; and this very
submission terrified the more tender-hearted amongst them. However, they
bound him; carried him down many stairs, and, having remembered an iron
staple in the wall of a certain vault, with a thick rusty chain attached
to it, they bore him thither, and made the chain fast around him. There
they left him, shutting the great gnarring brazen door of the vault, as
they departed for the upper regions of the castle.

"Now all was in a tumult of preparation. Every one was talking of the
coming festivity; but no one spoke of the deed they had done. A sudden
paleness overspread the face, now of one, and now of another; but it
passed away, and no one took any notice of it; they only plied the task of
the moment the more energetically. Messengers were sent far and near, not
to individuals or families, but publishing in all places of concourse a
general invitation to any who chose to come on a certain day, and partake
for certain succeeding days of the hospitality of the dwellers in the
castle. Many were the preparations immediately begun for complying with
the invitation. But the noblest of their neighbours refused to appear; not
from pride, but because of the unsuitableness and carelessness of such a
mode. With some of them it was an old condition in the tenure of their
estates, that they should go to no one's dwelling except visited in
person, and expressly solicited. Others, knowing what sort of persons
would be there, and that, from a certain physical antipathy, they could
scarcely breathe in their company, made up their minds at once not to go.
Yet multitudes, many of them beautiful and innocent as well as gay,
resolved to appear.

"Meanwhile the great rooms of the castle were got in readiness--that is,
they proceeded to deface them with decorations; for there was a solemnity
and stateliness about them in their ordinary condition, which was at once
felt to be unsuitable for the light-hearted company so soon to move about
in them with the self-same carelessness with which men walk abroad within
the great heavens and hills and clouds. One day, while the workmen were
busy, the eldest sister, of whom I have already spoken, happened to enter,
she knew not why. Suddenly the great idea of the mighty halls dawned upon
her, and filled her soul. The so-called decorations vanished from her
view, and she felt as if she stood in her father's presence. She was at
one elevated and humbled. As suddenly the idea faded and fled, and she
beheld but the gaudy festoons and draperies and paintings which disfigured
the grandeur. She wept and sped away. Now it was too late to interfere,
and things must take their course. She would have been but a Cassandra-
prophetess to those who saw but the pleasure before them. She had not been
present when her brother was imprisoned; and indeed for some days had been
so wrapt in her own business, that she had taken but little heed of
anything that was going on. But they all expected her to show herself when
the company was gathered; and they had applied to her for advice at
various times during their operations.

"At length the expected hour arrived, and the company began to assemble.
It was a warm summer evening. The dark lake reflected the rose-coloured
clouds in the west, and through the flush rowed many gaily painted boats,
with various coloured flags, towards the massy rock on which the castle
stood. The trees and flowers seemed already asleep, and breathing forth
their sweet dream-breath. Laughter and low voices rose from the breast of
the lake to the ears of the youths and maidens looking forth expectant
from the lofty windows. They went down to the broad platform at the top of
the stairs in front of the door to receive their visitors. By degrees the
festivities of the evening commenced. The same smiles flew forth both at
eyes and lips, darting like beams through the gathering crowd. Music, from
unseen sources, now rolled in billows, now crept in ripples through the
sea of air that filled the lofty rooms. And in the dancing halls, when
hand took hand, and form and motion were moulded and swayed by the
indwelling music, it governed not these alone, but, as the ruling spirit
of the place, every new burst of music for a new dance swept before it a
new and accordant odour, and dyed the flames that glowed in the lofty
lamps with a new and accordant stain. The floors bent beneath the feet of
the time-keeping dancers. But twice in the evening some of the inmates
started, and the pallor occasionally common to the household overspread
their faces, for they felt underneath them a counter-motion to the dance,
as if the floor rose slightly to answer their feet. And all the time their
brother lay below in the dungeon, like John the Baptist in the castle of
Herod, when the lords and captains sat around, and the daughter of
Herodias danced before them. Outside, all around the castle, brooded the
dark night unheeded; for the clouds had come up from all sides, and were
crowding together overhead. In the unfrequent pauses of the music, they
might have heard, now and then, the gusty rush of a lonely wind, coming
and going no one could know whence or whither, born and dying unexpected
and unregarded.

"But when the festivities were at their height, when the external and
passing confidence which is produced between superficial natures by a
common pleasure was at the full, a sudden crash of thunder quelled the
music, as the thunder quells the noise of the uplifted sea. The windows
were driven in, and torrents of rain, carried in the folds of a rushing
wind, poured into the halls. The lights were swept away; and the great
rooms, now dark within, were darkened yet more by the dazzling shoots of
flame from the vault of blackness overhead. Those that ventured to look
out of the windows saw, in the blue brilliancy of the quick-following jets
of lightning, the lake at the foot of the rock, ordinarily so still and so
dark, lighted up, not on the surface only, but down to half its depth; so
that, as it tossed in the wind, like a tortured sea of writhing flames, or
incandescent half-molten serpents of brass, they could not tell whether a
strong phosphorescence did not issue from the transparent body of the
waters, as if earth and sky lightened together, one consenting source of
flaming utterance.

"Sad was the condition of the late plastic mass of living form that had
flowed into shape at the will and law of the music. Broken into
individuals, the common transfusing spirit withdrawn, they stood drenched,
cold, and benumbed, with clinging garments; light, order, harmony, purpose
departed, and chaos restored; the issuings of life turned back on their
sources, chilly and dead. And in every heart reigned the falsest of
despairing convictions, that this was the only reality, and that was but a
dream. The eldest sister stood with clasped hands and down-bent head,
shivering and speechless, as if waiting for something to follow. Nor did
she wait long. A terrible flash and thunder-peal made the castle rock; and
in the pausing silence that followed, her quick sense heard the rattling
of a chain far off, deep down; and soon the sound of heavy footsteps,
accompanied with the clanking of iron, reached her ear. She felt that her
brother was at hand. Even in the darkness, and amidst the bellowing of
another deep-bosomed cloud-monster, she knew that he had entered the room.
A moment after, a continuous pulsation of angry blue light began, which,
lasting for some moments, revealed him standing amidst them, gaunt,
haggard, and motionless; his hair and beard untrimmed, his face ghastly,
his eyes large and hollow. The light seemed to gather around him as a
centre. Indeed some believed that it throbbed and radiated from his
person, and not from the stormy heavens above them. The lightning had rent
the wall of his prison, and released the iron staple of his chain, which
he had wound about him like a girdle. In his hand he carried an iron
fetter-bar, which he had found on the floor of the vault. More terrified
at his aspect than at all the violence of the storm, the visitors, with
many a shriek and cry, rushed out into the tempestuous night. By degrees,
the storm died away. Its last flash revealed the forms of the brothers and
sisters lying prostrate, with their faces on the floor, and that fearful
shape standing motionless amidst them still.

"Morning dawned, and there they lay, and there he stood. But at a word
from him, they arose and went about their various duties, though
listlessly enough. The eldest sister was the last to rise; and when she
did, it was only by a terrible effort that she was able to reach her room,
where she fell again on the floor. There she remained lying for days. The
brother caused the doors of the great suite of rooms to be closed, leaving
them just as they were, with all the childish adornment scattered about,
and the rain still falling in through the shattered windows. 'Thus let
them lie,' said he, 'till the rain and frost have cleansed them of paint
and drapery: no storm can hurt the pillars and arches of these halls.'

"The hours of this day went heavily. The storm was gone, but the rain was
left; the passion had departed, but the tears remained behind. Dull and
dark the low misty clouds brooded over the castle and the lake, and shut
out all the neighbourhood. Even if they had climbed to the loftiest known
turret, they would have found it swathed in a garment of clinging vapour,
affording no refreshment to the eye, and no hope to the heart. There was
one lofty tower that rose sheer a hundred feet above the rest, and from
which the fog could have been seen lying in a grey mass beneath; but that
tower they had not yet discovered, nor another close beside it, the top of
which was never seen, nor could be, for the highest clouds of heaven
clustered continually around it. The rain fell continuously, though not
heavily, without; and within, too, there were clouds from which dropped
the tears which are the rain of the spirit. All the good of life seemed
for the time departed, and their souls lived but as leafless trees that
had forgotten the joy of the summer, and whom no wind prophetic of spring
had yet visited. They moved about mechanically, and had not strength
enough left to wish to die.

"The next day the clouds were higher, and a little wind blew through such
loopholes in the turrets as the false improvements of the inmates had not
yet filled with glass, shutting out, as the storm, so the serene visitings
of the heavens. Throughout the day, the brother took various opportunities
of addressing a gentle command, now to one and now to another of his
family. It was obeyed in silence. The wind blew fresher through the
loopholes and the shattered windows of the great rooms, and found its way,
by unknown passages, to faces and eyes hot with weeping. It cooled and
blessed them.--When the sun arose the next day, it was in a clear sky.

"By degrees, everything fell into the regularity of subordination. With
the subordination came increase of freedom. The steps of the more youthful
of the family were heard on the stairs and in the corridors more light and
quick than ever before. Their brother had lost the terrors of aspect
produced by his confinement, and his commands were issued more gently, and
oftener with a smile, than in all their previous history. By degrees his
presence was universally felt through the house. It was no surprise to any
one at his studies, to see him by his side when he lifted up his eyes,
though he had not before known that he was in the room. And although some
dread still remained, it was rapidly vanishing before the advances of a
firm friendship. Without immediately ordering their labours, he always
influenced them, and often altered their direction and objects. The change
soon evident in the household was remarkable. A simpler, nobler expression
was visible on all the countenances. The voices of the men were deeper,
and yet seemed by their very depth more feminine than before; while the
voices of the women were softer and sweeter, and at the same time more
full and decided. Now the eyes had often an expression as if their sight
was absorbed in the gaze of the inward eyes; and when the eyes of two met,
there passed between those eyes the utterance of a conviction that both
meant the same thing. But the change was, of course, to be seen more
clearly, though not more evidently, in individuals.

"One of the brothers, for instance, was very fond of astronomy. He had his
observatory on a lofty tower, which stood pretty clear of the others,
towards the north and east. But hitherto, his astronomy, as he had called
it, had been more of the character of astrology. Often, too, he might have
been seen directing a heaven-searching telescope to catch the rapid
transit of a fiery shooting-star, belonging altogether to the earthly
atmosphere, and not to the serene heavens. He had to learn that the signs
of the air are not the signs of the skies. Nay, once, his brother
surprised him in the act of examining through his longest tube a patch of
burning heath upon a distant hill. But now he was diligent from morning
till night in the study of the laws of the truth that has to do with
stars; and when the curtain of the sunlight was about to rise from before
the heavenly worlds which it had hidden all day long, he might be seen
preparing his instruments with that solemn countenance with which it
becometh one to look into the mysterious harmonies of Nature. Now he
learned what law and order and truth are, what consent and harmony mean;
how the individual may find his own end in a higher end, where law and
freedom mean the same thing, and the purest certainty exists without the
slightest constraint. Thus he stood on the earth, and looked to the
heavens.

"Another, who had been much given to searching out the hollow places and
recesses in the foundations of the castle, and who was often to be found
with compass and ruler working away at a chart of the same which he had
been in process of constructing, now came to the conclusion, that only by
ascending the upper regions of his abode could he become capable of
understanding what lay beneath; and that, in all probability, one clear
prospect, from the top of the highest attainable turret, over the castle
as it lay below, would reveal more of the idea of its internal
construction, than a year spent in wandering through its subterranean
vaults. But the fact was, that the desire to ascend wakening within him
had made him forget what was beneath; and having laid aside his chart for
a time at least, he was now to be met in every quarter of the upper parts,
searching and striving upward, now in one direction, now in another; and
seeking, as he went, the best outlooks into the clear air of outer
realities.

"And they began to discover that they were all meditating different
aspects of the same thing; and they brought together their various
discoveries, and recognized the likeness between them; and the one thing
often explained the other, and combining with it helped to a third. They
grew in consequence more and more friendly and loving; so that every now
and then one turned to another and said, as in surprise, 'Why, you are my
brother!'--'Why, you are my sister!' And yet they had always known it.

"The change reached to all. One, who lived on the air of sweet sounds, and
who was almost always to be found seated by her harp or some other
instrument, had, till the late storm, been generally merry and playful,
though sometimes sad. But for a long time after that, she was often found
weeping, and playing little simple airs which she had heard in childhood--
backward longings, followed by fresh tears. Before long, however, a new
element manifested itself in her music. It became yet more wild, and
sometimes retained all its sadness, but it was mingled with anticipation
and hope. The past and the future merged in one; and while memory yet
brought the rain-cloud, expectation threw the rainbow across its bosom--
and all was uttered in her music, which rose and swelled, now to defiance,
now to victory; then died in a torrent of weeping.

"As to the eldest sister, it was many days before she recovered from the
shock. At length, one day, her brother came to her, took her by the hand,
led her to an open window, and told her to seat herself by it, and look
out. She did so; but at first saw nothing more than an unsympathizing
blaze of sunlight. But as she looked, the horizon widened out, and the
dome of the sky ascended, till the grandeur seized upon her soul, and she
fell on her knees and wept. Now the heavens seemed to bend lovingly over
her, and to stretch out wide cloud-arms to embrace her; the earth lay like
the bosom of an infinite love beneath her, and the wind kissed her cheek
with an odour of roses. She sprang to her feet, and turned, in an agony of
hope, expecting to behold the face of the father, but there stood only her
brother, looking calmly though lovingly on her emotion. She turned again
to the window. On the hilltops rested the sky: Heaven and Earth were one;
and the prophecy awoke in her soul, that from betwixt them would the steps
of the father approach.

"Hitherto she had seen but Beauty; now she beheld Truth. Often had she
looked on such clouds as these, and loved the strange ethereal curves into
which the winds moulded them; and had smiled as her little pet sister told
her what curious animals she saw in them, and tried to point them out to
her. Now they were as troops of angels, jubilant over her new birth, for
they sang, in her soul, of beauty, and truth, and love. She looked down,
and her little sister knelt beside her.

"She was a curious child, with black, glittering eyes, and dark hair; at
the mercy of every wandering wind; a frolicsome, daring girl, who laughed
more than she smiled. She was generally in attendance on her sister, and
was always finding and bringing her strange things. She never pulled a
primrose, but she knew the haunts of all the orchis tribe, and brought
from them bees and butterflies innumerable, as offerings to her sister.
Curious moths and glow-worms were her greatest delight; and she loved the
stars, because they were like the glow-worms. But the change had affected
her too; for her sister saw that her eyes had lost their glittering look,
and had become more liquid and transparent. And from that time she often
observed that her gaiety was more gentle, her smile more frequent, her
laugh less bell-like; and although she was as wild as ever, there was more
elegance in her motions, and more music in her voice. And she clung to her
sister with far greater fondness than before.

"The land reposed in the embrace of the warm summer days. The clouds of
heaven nestled around the towers of the castle; and the hearts of its
inmates became conscious of a warm atmosphere--of a presence of love. They
began to feel like the children of a household, when the mother is at
home. Their faces and forms grew daily more and more beautiful, till they
wondered as they gazed on each other. As they walked in the gardens of the
castle, or in the country around, they were often visited, especially the
eldest sister, by sounds that no one heard but themselves, issuing from
woods and waters; and by forms of love that lightened out of flowers, and
grass, and great rocks. Now and then the young children would come in with
a slow, stately step, and, with great eyes that looked as if they would
devour all the creation, say that they had met the father amongst the
trees, and that he had kissed them; 'And,' added one of them once, 'I grew
so big!' But when the others went out to look, they could see no one. And
some said it must have been the brother, who grew more and more beautiful,
and loving, and reverend, and who had lost all traces of hardness, so that
they wondered they could ever have thought him stern and harsh. But the
eldest sister held her peace, and looked up, and her eyes filled with
tears. 'Who can tell,' thought she, 'but the little children know more
about it than we?'

"Often, at sunrise, might be heard their hymn of praise to their unseen
father, whom they felt to be near, though they saw him not. Some words
thereof once reached my ear through the folds of the music in which they
floated, as in an upward snowstorm of sweet sounds. And these are some of
the words I heard--but there was much I seemed to hear which I could not
understand, and some things which I understood but cannot utter again.

"'We thank thee that we have a father, and not a maker; that thou hast
begotten us, and not moulded us as images of clay; that we have come forth
of thy heart, and have not been fashioned by thy hands. It _must_ be so.
Only the heart of a father is able to create. We rejoice in it, and bless
thee that we know it. We thank thee for thyself. Be what thou art--our
root and life, our beginning and end, our all in all. Come home to us.
Thou livest; therefore we live. In thy light we see. Thou art--that is all
our song.'

"Thus they worship, and love, and wait. Their hope and expectation grow
ever stronger and brighter, that one day, ere long, the Father will show
Himself amongst them, and thenceforth dwell in His own house for evermore.
What was once but an old legend has become the one desire of their hearts.

"And the loftiest hope is the surest of being fulfilled."

* * * * *

"Thank you, heartily," said the curate. "I will choose another time to
tell you how much I have enjoyed your parable, which is altogether to my
mind, and far beyond anything I could do."

Mr. Bloomfield returned no answer, but his countenance showed that he was
far from hearing this praise unmoved. The faces of the rest showed that
they too had listened with pleasure; and Adela's face shone as if she had
received more than delight--hope, namely, and onward impulse. The colonel
alone--I forgot to say that Mrs. Cathcart had a headache, and did not
come--seemed to have been left behind.

"I am a stupid old fellow, I believe," said he; "but to tell the truth, I
did not know what to make of it. It seemed all the time to be telling me
in one breath something I knew and something I didn't and couldn't know. I
wish I could express what I mean, but it puzzled me too much for that;
although every now and then it sounded very beautiful indeed."

"I will try and tell you what it said to me, sometime, papa," said Adela.

"Thank you, my child; I should much like to understand it. I believe I
have done my duty by my king and country, but a man has to learn a good
deal after all that is over and done with; and I suppose it is never too
late to begin, Mr. Armstrong?"

"On the contrary, I not merely believe that no future time can be so good
as the present, but I am inclined to assert that no past time could have
been so good as the present. This seems to be a paradox, but I think I
could explain it very easily. I find, however, that the ladies are looking
as if they wanted to go home, and I am quite ready, Mrs. Armstrong. But
while the ladies put their bonnets on, just let Smith see your schoolroom,
Mr. Bloomfield. As an inhabitant of Purleybridge, I already begin to be
proud of it."

The ladies did go to put on their bonnets. I followed Mr. Bloomfield and
the colonel into the schoolroom, and the curate followed me. But after we
had looked about us and remarked on the things about for five minutes,
finding I had left my handkerchief in the drawing-room, I went back to
fetch it. The door was open, and I saw Adela--no bonnet on her head yet--
standing face to face with Harry. They were alone. I hesitated for a
moment what I should do, and while I hesitated, I could not help seeing
the arm of the doctor curved and half-outstretched, as if it would gladly
have folded about her, and his face droop and droop, till it could not
have been more than half a foot from hers. Now, as far as my seeing this
was concerned, there was no harm done. But behind me came the curate and
the schoolmaster, and they had eyes in their heads, at least equal to
mine. Well, no great harm yet. And just far enough down the stair to see
into the drawing-room, appeared their wives, who could not fail to see the
unconscious pair, at least as well as we men below. Still there was no
great harm done, for Mrs. Cathcart was at home, as I have said. But,
_horresco referens!_ excuse the recondite quotation--at the same moment
the form of the colonel appeared, looking over the heads of all before him
right in at the drawing-room door, and full at the young sinners, who had
heard no sound along the matted passage.

"Here's a go!" said I to myself--not aloud, observe, for it was slang.

For just think of a man like Harry caught thus in a perfect trap of
converging looks.

As if from a sudden feeling of hostile presence, he glanced round--and
stood erect. The poor fellow's face at once flushed as red as shame could
make it, but he neither lost his self-possession, nor sought to escape
under cover of a useless pretence. He turned to the colonel.

"Colonel Cathcart," he said, "I will choose a more suitable time to make
my apology. I wish you good night."

He bowed to us all, not choosing to risk a refusal of his hand by the
colonel, and went quickly out of the house.

The colonel stood for some moments, which felt to me like minutes, as if
he had just mounted guard at the drawing-room door. His face was perfectly
expressionless. We men felt very much like stale oysters, and would rather
have skipped that same portion of our inevitable existence. What the
ladies felt, I do not pretend, being an old bachelor, to divine.

Adela, pale as death, fled up the stair. The only thing left for the rest
of us was, to act as much as possible as if nothing were the matter, and
get out of the way before the poor girl came down again. As soon as I got
home, I went to my own room, and thus avoided the _tete-a-tete_ with my
host which generally closed our evenings.

The colonel went up to his daughter's room, and remained there for nearly
an hour. Adela was not at the breakfast-table the next morning. Her father
looked very gloomy, and Mrs. Cathcart grimly satisfied, with _I told you
so_ written on her face as plainly as I have now written it on the paper.
How she came to know anything about it, I can only conjecture.

CHAPTER VIII.

WHAT NEXT?

Harry called early, and was informed that the colonel was not at home.

"Something's the matter, Mr. Armstrong," said Beeves. "Master's not at
home to you to-day, he says, nor any other day till he countermands the
order--that was the word, sir. I'm sure I am very sorry, sir."

"So am I," said Harry. "How's your mistress?"

"Haven't seen her to-day, sir. Emma says she's poorly. But she is down.
Emma looks as if she knew something and wouldn't tell it. I'll get it out
of her though, sir. We'll be having that old Wade coming about the house
again, I'm afeard, sir. _He's_ no good."

"At all events you will let your master know that I have called," said
Harry, as he turned disconsolately, to take his departure.

"That I will, sir. And I'll be sure he hears me. He's rather deaf,
sometimes, you know, sir."

"Thank you, Beeves. Good morning."

Now what could have been Harry's intention in calling upon the colonel?
Why, as he had said himself, to make an apology. But what kind of apology
could he make? Clearly there was only one that would satisfy all parties--
and that must be in the form of a request to be allowed to pay his
addresses--(that used to be the phrase in my time--I don't know the young
ladies' slang for it now-a-days)--to Adela. Did I say--_satisfy all
parties_? This was just the one form affairs might take, which would least
of all satisfy the colonel. I believe, with all his rigid proprieties, he
would have preferred the confession that the doctor had so far forgotten
himself as to attempt to snatch a kiss--a theft of which I cannot imagine
a gentleman guilty, least of all a doctor from his patient; which relation
no doubt the colonel persisted in regarding as the sole possible and
everlastingly permanent one between Adela and Harry. The former was,
however, the only apology Harry could make; and evidently the colonel
expected it when he refused to see him.

But why should he refuse to see him?--The doctor was not on an equality
with the colonel. Well, to borrow a form from the Shorter Catechism:
wherein consisted the difference between the colonel and the doctor?--The
difference between the colonel and the doctor consisted chiefly in this,
that whereas the colonel lived by the wits of his ancestors, Harry lived
by his own, and therefore was not so respectable as the colonel. Or in
other words: the colonel inherited a good estate, with the ordinary
quantity of brains; while Harry inherited a good education and an
extraordinary quantity of brains. So of course it was very presumptuous in
Harry to aspire to the hand of Miss Cathcart.

In the forenoon the curate called upon me, and was shown into the library
where I was.

"What's that scapegrace brother of mine been doing, Smith?" he asked, the
moment he entered.

"Wanting to marry Adela," I replied.

"What has he done?"

"Called this morning."

"And seen Colonel Cathcart?"

"No."

"Not at home?"

"In a social sense, not at home; in a moral sense, very far from at home;
in a natural sense, seated in his own arm-chair, with his own work on the
Peninsular War open on the table before him."

"Wouldn't see him?"

"No."

"What's he to do then?"

"I think we had better leave that to him. Harry is not the man I take him
for if he doesn't know his own way better than you or I can tell him."

"You're right, Smith. How's Miss Cathcart?"

"I have never seen her so well. Certainly she did not come down to
breakfast, but I believe that was merely from shyness. She appeared in the
dining-room directly after, and although it was evident she had been
crying, her step was as light and her colour as fresh as her lover even
could wish to see them."

"Then she is not without hope in the matter?"

"If she loves him, and I think she does, she is not without hope. But I do
not think the fact of her looking well would be sufficient to prove that.
For some mental troubles will favour the return of bodily health. They
will at least give one an interest in life."

"Then you think her father has given in a little about it?"

"I don't believe it.--If her illness and she were both of an ordinary
kind, she would gain her point now by taking to her bed. But from what I
know of Adela she would scorn and resist that."

"Well, we must let matters take their course. Harry is worthy of the best
wife in Christendom."

"I believe it. And more, if Adela will make that best wife, I think he
will have the best wife. But we must have patience."

Next morning, a letter arrived from Harry to the colonel. I have seen it,
and it was to this effect:

"My dear Sir,--As you will not see me, I am forced to write to you. Let my
earnest entreaty to be allowed to address your daughter, cover, if it
cannot make up for, my inadvertence of the other evening. I am very sorry
I have offended you. If you will receive me, I trust you will not find it
hard to forget. Yours, &c."

To this the colonel replied:

"Sir,--It is at least useless, if not worse, to apply for an _ex post
facto_ permission. What I might have answered, had the courtesies of
society been observed, it may be easy for me to determine, but it is
useless now to repeat. Allow me to say that I consider such behaviour of a
medical practitioner towards a young lady, his patient, altogether
unworthy of a gentleman, as every member of a learned profession is
supposed to be. I have the honour, &c."

I returned the curate's call, and while we were sitting in his study, in
walked Harry with a rather rueful countenance.

"What do you say to that, Ralph?" said he, handing his brother the letter.

"Cool," replied Ralph. "But Harry, my boy, you have given him quite the
upper hand of you. How could you be so foolish as kiss the girl there and
then?"

"I didn't," said Harry.

"But you did just as bad. You were going to do it."

"I don't think I was. But somehow those great eyes of hers kept pulling
and pulling my head, so that I don't know what I was going to do. I
remember nothing but her eyes. Suddenly a scared look in them startled me,
and I saw it all. Mr. Smith, was it so very dishonourable of me?"

"You are the best judge of that yourself, Harry," I answered. "Just let me
look at the note."

I read it, folded it up carefully, and returning it, said:

"He's given you a good hold of him there. It is really too bad of
Cathcart, being a downright good fellow, to forget that he ran away with
Miss Selby, old Sir George, the baronet's daughter. Neither of them ever
repented it; though he was only Captain Cathcart then, in a regiment of
foot, too, and was not even next heir to the property he has now."

"Hurrah!" cried Harry.

"Stop, stop. That doesn't make it a bit better," said his brother. "I
suppose you mean to argue with him on that ground, do you?"

"No, I don't. I'm not such a fool. But if I _should_ be forced to run away
with her, _he_ can't complain, you know."

"No, no, Harry, my boy," said I. "That won't do. It would break the old
man's heart. You must have patience for a while."

"Yes, yes. I know what I mean to do."

"What?"

"When I've made up my mind, I never ask advice. It only bewilders a
fellow."

"Quite right, Hal," said his brother. "Only don't do anything foolish."

"I won't do anything she doesn't like."

"No, nor anything you won't like yourself afterwards," I ventured to say.

"I hope not," returned he, gravely, as he walked out, too much absorbed to
bid either of us _good morning_.

It was now more than time that I should return to town; but I could not
leave affairs in this unsatisfactory state. I therefore lingered on to see
what would come next.

CHAPTER IX.

GENERALSHIP.

The next day Harry called again.

"Master 'aint countermanded the order, Doctor. He 'aint at home--not a bit
of it. He 'aint been out of the house since that night."

"Well, is Miss Cathcart at home?"

"She's said nothing to the contrairy, sir. I believe she _is_ at home. I
know she's out in the garding--on the terridge."

And old Beeves held the door wide open, as if to say--"Don't stop to ask
any questions, but step into the garden." Which Harry did.

There was a high gravel terrace along one end of it, always dry and sunny
when there was any sun going; and there she was, over-looked by the
windows of her papa's room.

Now I do not know anything that passed upon that terrace. How should I
know? Neither of them was likely to tell old Smith. And I wonder at the
clumsiness of novelists in pretending to reveal all that _he_ said, and
all that _she_ answered. But if I were such a clumsy novelist, I should
like to invent it all, and see if I couldn't make you believe every word
of it.

This is what I would invent.

The moment Adela caught sight of Harry, she cast one frightened glance up
to her father's windows, and stood waiting. He lifted his hat; and held
out his hand. She took it. Neither spoke. They turned together and walked
along the terrace.

"I am very sorry," said Harry at last.

"Are you? What for?"

"Because I got you into a scrape."

"Oh! I don't care."

"Don't you?"

"No; not a bit."

"I didn't mean it."

"What didn't you mean?"

"It did look like it, I know."

"Look like what?"

"Adela, you'll drive me crazy. It was all your fault."

"So I told papa, and he was angrier than ever."

"You angel! It wasn't your fault. It was your eyes. I couldn't help it.
Adela, I love you dreadfully."

"I'm _so_ glad."

She gave a sigh as of relief.

"Why?"

"Because I wished you would. But I don't deserve it. A great clever man
like you love a useless girl like me! I _am_ so glad!"

"But your papa?"

"I'm so happy, I can't think about him steadily just yet."

"Adela, I love you--so dearly! Only I am too old for you."

"Old! how old are you?"

"Nearly thirty."

"And I'm only one-and-twenty. You're worth one and a half of me--yes
twenty of me."

And so their lips played with the ripples of love, while their hearts were
heaving with the ground swell of its tempest.

Now what I do know about is this:

The colonel came down-stairs in his dressing-gown and slippers, and found
Beeves flattening his nose against the glass of the garden-door.

"Beeves!" said the colonel.

"Sir!" said Beeves, darting around and confronting his master with a face
purple and pale from the sense of utter unpreparedness.

"Beeves, where is your mistress?"

"My mistress, sir? I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure, sir! How should I
know, sir? I 'aint let her out. Shall I run up-stairs and see if she is in
her room?"

"Open the door."

Beeves laid violent hold upon the handle of the door, and pulled and
twisted, but always took care to pull before he twisted.

"I declare if that stupid Ann 'aint been and locked it. It aint nice in
the garden to-day, sir--leastways without goloshes," added he, looking
down at his master's slippers.

Now the colonel understood Beeves, and Beeves knew that he understood him.
But Beeves knew likewise that the colonel would not give in to the
possibility of his servant's taking such liberties with him.

"Never mind," said the colonel; "I will go the other way."

The moment he was out of sight, Beeves opened the garden-door, and began
gesticulating like a madman, fully persuaded that the doctor would make
his escape. But so far from being prepared to run away, Harry had come
there with the express intention of forcing a conference. So that when the
colonel made his appearance on the terrace, the culprits walked slowly
towards him. He went to meet them with long military strides, and was the
first to speak.

"Mr. Armstrong, to what am I to attribute this intrusion?"

"Chiefly to the desire of seeing you, Colonel Cathcart."

"And I find you with my daughter!--Adela, go in-doors,"

Adela withdrew at once.

"You denied yourself, and I inquired for Miss Cathcart."

"You will oblige me by not calling again."

"Surely I have committed no fault beyond forgiveness."

"You have taken advantage of your admission into my family to entrap the
affections of my daughter."

"Colonel Cathcart, as far as my conscience tells me, I have not behaved
unworthily."

"Sir, is it not unworthy of a gentleman to use such professional
advantages to gain the favour of one who--you will excuse me for reminding
you of what you will not allow me to forget--is as much above him in
social position, as inferior to him in years and experience."

"Is it always unworthy in a gentleman to aspire to a lady above him in
social position, Colonel Cathcart?"

The honesty of the colonel checked all reply to this home-thrust.

Harry resumed:

"At least I am able to maintain my wife in what may be considered
comfort."

"Your wife!" exclaimed the colonel, his anger blazing out at the word. "If
you use that expression with any prospective reference to Miss Cathcart, I
am master enough in my own family to insure you full possession of the
presumption. I wish you good morning."

The angry man of war turned on his slippered heel, and was striding away.

"One word, I beg," said Harry.

The colonel had too much courtesy in his nature not to stop and turn half
towards the speaker.

"I beg to assure you," said Harry, "that I shall continue to cherish the
hope that after-thoughts will present my conduct, as well as myself, in a
more favourable light to Colonel Cathcart."

And he lifted his hat, and walked away by the gate.

"By Jove!" said the colonel, to himself, notwithstanding the rage he was
in, "the fellow can express himself like a gentleman, anyhow."

And so he went back to his room, where I heard him pacing about for hours.
I believe he found that his better self was not to be so easily put down
as he had supposed; and that that better self sided with Adela and Harry.

CHAPTER X.

AN UNFORESEEN FORESIGHT.

What else is a Providence?

Harry went about his work as usual, only with a graver face.

Adela looked very sad, but without any of her old helpless and hopeless
air. Her health was quite established; and she now returned all the
attention her father had paid to her.--Fortunately Mrs. Cathcart had gone
home.

"Cunning puss!" some of my readers may say; "she was trying to coax the
old man out of his resolution." But such a notion would be quite unjust to
my niece. She was more in danger of going to the other extreme, to avoid
hypocrisy. But she had the divine gift of knowing what any one she loved
was feeling and thinking; and she knew that her father was suffering, and
all about it. The old man's pace grew heavier; the lines about his mouth
grew deeper; he sat at table without speaking; he ate very little, and
drank more wine. Adela's eyes followed his every action. I could see that
sometimes she was ready to rise and throw her arms about him. Often I saw
in her lovely eyes that peculiar clearness of the atmosphere which
indicates the nearness of rain. And once or twice she rose and left the
room, as if to save her from an otherwise unavoidable exposure of her
feelings.

The gloom fell upon the servants too. Beeves waited in a leaden-handed
way, that showed he was determined to do his duty, although it should
bring small pleasure with it. He took every opportunity of unburdening his
bosom to me.

"It's just like when mis'ess died," said he. "The very cocks walk about
the yard as if they had hearse-plumes in their tails. Everybody looks
ready to hang hisself, except you, Mr. Smith. And that's a comfort."

The fact was, that I had very little doubt as to how it would all end. But
I would not interfere; for I saw that it would be much better for the
colonel's heart and conscience to right themselves, than that he should be
persuaded to anything, it was very hard for him. He had led his regiment
to victory and glory; he had charged and captured many a gun; he had
driven the enemy out of many a boldly defended entrenchment; and was it
not hard that he could not drive the _eidolon_ of a country surgeon out of
the bosom of his little girl? (It was hard that he could not; but it would
have been a deal harder if he could). He had nursed and loved, and petted
and spoiled her. And she _would_ care for a man whom he disliked!

But here the old man was mistaken. He did not dislike Harry Armstrong.
He admired and honoured him. He almost loved him for his gallant devotion
to his duty. He would have been proud of him for a son--but not for a
son-in-law. He would not have minded adopting him, or doing anything _but_
giving him Adela. There was a great deal of pride left in the old soldier,
and that must be taken out of him. We shall all have to thank God for the
whip of scorpions which, if needful, will do its part to drive us into the
kingdom of heaven.

"How happy the dear old man will be," I said to myself, "when he just
yields this last castle of selfishness, and walks unhoused into the new
childhood, of which God takes care!"

And this end came sooner than I had looked for it.

I had made up my mind that it would be better for me to go.

When I told Adela that I must go, she gave me a look in which lay the
whole story in light and in tears. I answered with a pressure of her hand
and an old uncle's kiss. But no word was spoken on the subject.

I had a final cigar with the curate, and another with the schoolmaster;
bade them and their wives good-bye; told them all would come right if we
only had patience, and then went to Harry. But he was in the country, and
I thought I should not see him again.

With the assistance of good Beeves, I got my portmanteau packed that
night. I was going to start about ten o'clock next morning. It was long
before I got to sleep, and I heard the step of the colonel, whose room was
below mine on the drawing-room floor, going up and down, up and down, all
the time, till slumber came at last, and muffled me up.--We met at
breakfast, a party lugubrious enough. Beeves waited like a mute; the
colonel ate his breakfast like an offended parent; Adela trifled with hers
like one who had other things to think about; and I ate mine like a
parting guest who was being anything but sped. When the postbag was
brought in, the colonel unlocked it mechanically; distributed the letters;
opened one with indifference, read a few lines, and with a groan fell back
in his chair. We started up, and laid him on the sofa. With the privilege
of an old friend, I glanced at the letter, and found that a certain
speculation in which the colonel had ventured largely, had utterly failed.
I told Adela enough to satisfy her as to the nature of the misfortune. We
feared apoplexy, but before we could send for any medical man, he opened
his eyes, and called Adela. He clasped her to his bosom, and then tried to
rise; but fell back helpless.

"Shall we send for Dr. Wade?" said Adela, trembling and pale as death.

"Dr. Wade!" faltered the old man, with a perceptible accent of scorn.

"Which shall we send for?" I said.

"How can you ask?" he answered, feebly. "Harry Armstrong, of course."

The blood rushed into Adela's white face, and Beeves rushed out of the
room. In a quarter of an hour, Harry was with us. Adela had retired. He
made a few inquiries, administered some medicine he had brought with him,
and, giving orders that he should not be disturbed for a couple of hours,
left him with the injunction to keep perfectly quiet.

"Take my traps up to my room again, Beeves: and tell the coach-man he
won't be wanted this morning."

"Thank you, sir," said Beeves. "I don't know what we should do without
you, sir."

When Harry returned, we carried the colonel up to his own room, and Beeves
got him to bed. I said something about a nurse, but Harry said there was
no one so fit to nurse him as Adela. The poor man had never been ill
before; and I daresay he would have been very rebellious, had he not had a
great trouble at his heart to quiet him. He was as submissive as could be
desired.

I felt sure he would be better as soon as he had told Adela. I gave Harry
a hint of the matter, and he looked very much as if he would shout "Oh,
jolly!" but he did not.

Towards the evening, the colonel called his daughter to his bedside, and
said,

"Addie, darling, I have hurt you dreadfully."

"Oh, no! dear papa; you have not. And it is so easy to put it all right,
you know," she added, turning her head away a little.

"No, my child," he said in a tone full of self-reproach, "nobody can put
it right. I have made us both beggars, Addie, my love."

"Well, dearest papa, you can bear a little poverty surely?"

"It's not of myself I am thinking, my darling. Don't do me that injustice,
or I shall behave like a fool. It's only you I am thinking of."

"Oh, is that all, papa? Do you know that, if it were not for your sake, I
could sing a song about it!"

"Ah! you don't know what you make so light of. Poverty is not so easy to
endure."

"Papa," said Adela, solemnly, "if you knew how awful things looked to me
a little while ago--but it's all gone now!--the whole earth black and
frozen to the heart, with no God in it, and nothing worth living for--you
would not wonder that I take the prospect of poverty with absolute
indifference--yes, if you will believe me, with something of a strange
excitement. There will be something to battle with and beat."

And she stretched out a strong, beautiful white arm--from which the loose
open sleeve fell back, as if with that weapon of might she would strike
poverty to the earth; but it was only to adjust the pillow, which had
slipped sideways from the loved head.

"But Mr. Armstrong will not want to marry you now, Addie."

"Oh, won't he?" thought Adela; or at least I think she thought so. But she
said, rather demurely, and very shyly:

"But that won't be any worse than it was before; for you know you would
never have let me marry him anyhow."

"Oh! yes, I would, in time, Adela. I am not such a brute as you take me
for."

"Oh! you dear darling papa!" cried the poor child, and burst into tears,
with her head on her father's bosom. And he began comforting her so
sweetly, that you would have thought she had lost everything, and he was
going to give her all back again.

"Papa! papa!" she cried, "I will work for you; I will be your servant; I

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