He was looking, as it seemed, into the subsiding embers of the fire, and was a very statue of forsaken dejection and decay. Uncle! I ventured to say, having stood for some time unperceived near his table. Ah, yes, Maud, my dear childmy dear child. He turned, and with the candle in his hand, smiling his silvery smile of suffering on me. He walked more feebly and stiffly, I thought, than I had ever seen him move before. Sit down, Maudpray sit there. I took the chair he indicated. In my misery and my solitude, Maud, I have invoked you like a spirit, and you appear. With his two hands leaning on the table, he looked across at me, in a stooping attitude; he had not seated himself. I continued silent until it should be his pleasure to question or address me. At last he said, raising himself and looking upward, with a wild adorationhis fingertips elevated and glimmering in the faint mixed light No, I thank my Creator, I am not quite forsaken. Another silence, during which he looked steadfastly at me, and muttered, as if thinking aloud My guardian angel!my guardian angel! Maud, you have a heart. He addressed me suddenlyListen, for a few moments, to the appeal of an old and brokenhearted manyour guardianyour uncleyour suppliant. I had resolved never to speak to you more on this subject. But I was wrong. It was pride that inspired memere pride. I felt myself growing pale and flushed by turns during the pause that followed. Im very miserablevery nearly desperate. What remains for mewhat remains? Fortune has done her worstthrown in the dust, her wheels rolled over me; and the servile world, who follow her chariot like a mob, stamp upon the mangled wretch. All this had passed over me, and left me scarred and bloodless in this solitude. It was not my fault, MaudI say it was no fault of mine; I have no remorse, though more regrets than I can count, and all scored with fire. As people passed by Bartram, and looked upon its neglected grounds and smokeless chimneys, they thought my plight, I dare say, about the worst a proud man could be reduced to. They could not imagine one half its misery. But this old hecticthis old epilepticthis old spectre of wrongs, calamities, and follies, had still one hopemy manly though untutored sonthe last male scion of the Ruthyns. Maud, have I lost him? His fatemy fateI may say Millys fate;we all await your sentence. He loves you, as none but the very young can love, and that once only in a life. He loves you desperatelya most affectionate naturea Ruthyn, the best blood in Englandthe last man of the race; and Iif I lose him I lose all; and you will see me in my coffin, Maud, before many months. I stand before you in the attitude of a suppliantshall I kneel? His eyes were fixed on me with the light of despair, his knotted hands clasped, his whole figure bowed toward me. I was inexpressibly shocked and pained. Oh, uncle! uncle! I cried, and from very excitement I burst into tears. I saw that his eyes were fixed on me with a dismal scrutiny. I think he divined the nature of my agitation; but he determined, notwithstanding, to press me while my helpless agitation continued. You see my suspenseyou see my miserable and frightful suspense. You are kind, Maud; you love your fathers memory; you pity your fathers brother; you would not say no, and place a pistol at his head? Oh! I mustI mustI must say no. Oh! spare me, uncle, for Heavens sake. Dont question medont press me. I could notI could not do what you ask. I yield, MaudI yield, my dear. I will not press you; you shall have time, your own time, to think. I will accept no answer nowno, none, Maud. He said this, raising his thin hand to silence me. There, Maud, enough. I have spoken, as I always do to you, frankly, perhaps too frankly; but agony and despair will speak out, and plead, even with the most obdurate and cruel. With these words Uncle Silas entered his bedchamber, and shut the door, not violently, but with a resolute hand, and I thought I heard a cry. I hastened to my own room. I threw myself on my knees, and thanked Heaven for the firmness vouchsafed me; I could not believe it to have been my own. I was more miserable in consequence of this renewed suit on behalf of my odious cousin than I can describe. My uncle had taken such a line of importunity that it became a sort of agony to resist. I thought of the possibility of my hearing of his having made away with himself, and was every morning relieved when I heard that he was still as usual. I have often wondered since at my own firmness. In that dreadful interview with my uncle I had felt, in the whirl and horror of my mind, on the very point of submitting, just as nervous people are said to throw themselves over precipices through sheer dread of falling. XVI Sarah Matilda Comes to Light Some time after this interview, one day as I sat, sad enough, in my room, looking listlessly from the window, with good Mary Quince, whom, whether in the house or in my melancholy rambles, I always had by my side, I was startled by the sound of a loud and shrill female voice, in violent hysterical action, gabbling with great rapidity, sobbing, and very nearly screaming in a sort of fury. I started up, staring at the door. Lord bless us! cried honest Mary Quince, with round eyes and mouth agape, staring in the same direction. MaryMary, what can it be? Are they beating someone down yonder? I dont know where it comes from, gasped Quince. I willI willIll see her. Its her I want. OohoohoohoooooMiss Maud Ruthyn of Knowl. Miss Ruthyn of Knowl. Hoohoohoohoooo! What on earth can it be? I exclaimed, in great bewilderment and terror. It was now plainly very near indeed, and I heard the voice of our mild and shaky butler evidently remonstrating with the distressed damsel. Ill see her, she continued, pouring a torrent of vile abuse upon me, which stung me with a sudden sense of anger. What had I done to be afraid of anyone? How dared anyone in my uncles housein my housemix my name up with her detestable scurrilities? For Heavens sake, Miss, dont ye go out, cried poor Quince; its some drunken creature. But I was very angry, and, like a fool as I was, I threw open the door, exclaiming in a loud and haughty key Here is Miss Ruthyn of Knowl. Who wants to see her? A pink and white young lady, with black tresses, violent, weeping, shrill, voluble, was flouncing up the last stair, and shook her dress out on the lobby; and poor old Giblets, as Milly used to call him, was following in her wake, with many small remonstrances and entreaties, perfectly unheeded. The moment I looked at this person, it struck me that she was the identical lady whom I had seen in the carriage at Knowl Warren. The next moment I was in doubt; the next, still more so. She was decidedly thinner, and dressed by no means in such ladylike taste. Perhaps she was hardly like her at all. I began to distrust all these resemblances, and to fancy, with a shudder, that they originated, perhaps, only in my own sick brain. On seeing me, this young ladyas it seemed to me, a good deal of the barmaid or ladysmaid speciesdried her eyes fiercely, and, with a flaming countenance, called upon me peremptorily to produce her lawful husband. Her loud, insolent, outrageous attack had the effect of enhancing my indignation, and I quite forget what I said to her, but I well remember that her manner became a good deal more decent. She was plainly under the impression that I wanted to appropriate her husband, or, at least, that he wanted to marry me; and she ran on at such a pace, and her harangue was so passionate, incoherent, and unintelligible, that I thought her out of her mind she was far from it, however. I think if she had allowed me even a second for reflection, I should have hit upon her meaning. As it was, nothing could exceed my perplexity, until, plucking a soiled newspaper from her pocket, she indicated a particular paragraph, already sufficiently emphasised by double lines of red ink at its sides. It was a Lancashire paper, of about six weeks since, and very much worn and soiled for its age. I remember in particular a circular stain from the bottom of a vessel, either of coffee or brown stout. The paragraph was as follows, recording an event a year or more anterior to the date of the paper MarriageOn Tuesday, August 7, 18at Leatherwig Church, by the Rev. Arthur Hughes, Dudley R. Ruthyn, Esq., only son and heir of Silas Ruthyn, Esq., of BartramHaugh, Derbyshire, to Sarah Matilda, second daughter of John Mangles, Esq., of Wiggan, in this county. At first I read nothing but amazement in this announcement, but in another moment I felt how completely I was relieved; and showing, I believe, my intense satisfaction in my countenancefor the young lady eyed me with considerable surprise and curiosityI said This is extremely important. You must see Mr. Silas Ruthyn this moment. I am certain he knows nothing of it. I will conduct you to him. No more he doesI know that myself, she replied, following me with a selfasserting swagger, and a great rustling of cheap silk. As we entered, Uncle Silas looked up from his sofa, and closed his Revue des Deux Mondes. What is all this? he enquired, drily. This lady has brought with her a newspaper containing an extraordinary statement which affects our family, I answered. Uncle Silas raised himself, and looked with a hard, narrow scrutiny at the unknown young lady. A libel, I suppose, in the paper? he said, extending his hand for it. No, uncleno; only a marriage, I answered. Not Monica? he said, as he took it. Pah, it smells all over of tobacco and beer, he added, throwing a little eau de cologne over it. He raised it with a mixture of curiosity and disgust, saying again pah, as he did so. He read the paragraph, and as he did his face changed from white, all over, to lead colour. He raised his eyes, and looked steadily for some seconds at the young lady, who seemed a little awed by his strange presence. And you are, I suppose, the young lady, Sarah Matilda ne Mangles, mentioned in this little paragraph? he said, in a tone you would have called a sneer, were it not that it trembled. Sarah Matilda assented. My son is, I dare say, within reach. It so happens that I wrote to arrest his journey, and summon him here, some days sincesome days sincesome days since, he repeated slowly, like a person whose mind has wandered far away from the theme on which he is speaking. He had rung his bell, and old Wyat, always hovering about his rooms, entered. I want my son, immediately. If not in the house, send Harry to the stables; if not there, let him be followed, instantly. Brice is an active fellow, and will know where to find him. If he is in Feltram, or at a distance, let Brice take a horse, and Master Dudley can ride it back. He must be here without the loss of one moment. There intervened nearly a quarter of an hour, during which whenever he recollected her, Uncle Silas treated the young lady with a hyperrefined and ceremonious politeness, which appeared to make her uneasy, and even a little shy, and certainly prevented a renewal of those lamentations and invectives which he had heard faintly from the stairhead. But for the most part Uncle Silas seemed to forget us and his book, and all that surrounded him, lying back in the corner of his sofa, his chin upon his breast, and such a fearful shade and carving on his features as made me prefer looking in any direction but his. At length we heard the tread of Dudleys thick boots on the oak boards, and faint and muffled the sound of his voice as he crossexamined old Wyat before entering the chamber of audience. I think he suspected quite another visitor, and had no expectation of seeing the particular young lady, who rose from her chair as he entered, in an opportune flood of tears, crying Oh, Dudley, Dudley!oh, Dudley, could you? Oh, Dudley, your own poor Sal! You could notyou would notyour lawful wife! This and a good deal more, with cheeks that streamed like a windowpane in a thundershower, spoke Sarah Matilda with all her oratory, working his arm, which she clung to, up and down all the time, like the handle of a pump. But Dudley was, manifestly, confounded and dumbfounded. He stood for a long time gaping at his father, and stole just one sheepish glance at me; and, with red face and forehead, looked down at his boots, and then again at his father, who remained just in the attitude I have described, and with the same forbidding and dreary intensity in his strange face. Like a quarrelsome man worried in his sleep by a noise, Dudley suddenly woke up, as it were, with a start, in a halfsuppressed exasperation, and shook her off with a jerk and a muttered curse, as she whisked involuntarily into a chair, with more violence than could have been pleasant. Judging by your looks and demeanour, sir, I can almost anticipate your answers, said my uncle, addressing him suddenly. Will you be good enoughpray, madame (parenthetically to our visitor), command yourself for a few moments. Is this young person the daughter of a Mr. Mangles, and is her name Sarah Matilda? I dessay, answered Dudley, hurriedly. Is she your wife? Is she my wife? repeated Dudley, ill at ease. Yes, sir; it is a plain question. All this time Sarah Matilda was perpetually breaking into talk, and with difficulty silenced by my uncle. Well, appen she says I amdoes she? replied Dudley. Is she your wife, sir? Mayhap she so considers it, after a fashion, he replied, with an impudent swagger, seating himself as he did so. What do you think, sir? persisted Uncle Silas. I dont think nout about it, replied Dudley, surlily. Is that account true? said my uncle, handing him the paper. They wishes us to believe so, at any rate. Answer directly, sir. We have our thoughts upon it. If it be true, it is capable of every proof. For expeditions sake I ask you. There is no use in prevaricating. Who wants to deny it? It is truethere! There! I knew he would, screamed the young woman, hysterically, with a laugh of strange joy. Shut up, will ye? growled Dudley, savagely. Oh, Dudley, Dudley, darling! what have I done? Bin and ruined me, jestthats all. Oh! no, no, no, Dudley. Ye know I wouldnt. I could notcould not hurt ye, Dudley. No, no, no! He grinned at her, and, with a sharp sidenod, said Wait a bit. Oh, Dudley, dont be vexed, dear. I did not mean it. I would not hurt ye for all the world. Never. Well, never mind. You and yours tricked me finely; and now youve got methats all. My uncle laughed a very odd laugh. I knew it, of course; and upon my word, madame, you and he make a very pretty couple, sneered Uncle Silas. Dudley made no answer, looking, however, very savage. And with this poor young wife, so recently wedded, the low villain had actually solicited me to marry him! I am quite certain that my uncle was as entirely ignorant as I of Dudleys connection, and had, therefore, no participation in this appalling wickedness. And I have to congratulate you, my good fellow, on having secured the affections of a very suitable and vulgar young woman. I baint the first o the family as a done the same, retorted Dudley. At this taunt the old mans fury for a moment overpowered him. In an instant he was on his feet, quivering from head to foot. I never saw such a countenancelike one of those demongrotesques we see in the Gothic sideaisles and groiningsa dreadful grimace, monkeylike and insaneand his thin hand caught up his ebony stick, and shook it paralytically in the air. If ye touch me wi that, Ill smash ye, by ! shouted Dudley, furious, raising his hands and hitching his shoulder, just as I had seen him when he fought Captain Oakley. For a moment this picture was suspended before me, and I screamed, I know not what, in my terror. But the old man, the veteran of many a scene of excitement, where men disguise their ferocity in calm tones, and varnish their fury with smiles, had not quite lost his selfcommand. He turned toward me and said Does he know what hes saying? And with an icy laugh of contempt, his high, thin forehead still flushed, he sat down trembling. If you want to say aught, Ill hear ye. Ye may jaw me all ye like, and Ill stan it. Oh, I may speak? Thank you, sneered Uncle Silas, glancing slowly round at me, and breaking into a cold laugh. Ay, I dont mind cheek, not I; but you must not go for to do that, ye know. Gammon. I wont stand a blowI wont fro no one. Well, sir, availing myself of your permission to speak, I may remark, without offence to the young lady, that I dont happen to recollect the name Mangles among the old families of England. I presume you have chosen her chiefly for her virtues and her graces. Mrs. Sarah Matilda, not apprehending this compliment quite as Uncle Silas meant it, dropped a courtesy, notwithstanding her agitation, and, wiping her eyes, said, with a blubbered smile Youre very kind, sure. I hope, for both your sakes, she has got a little money. I dont see how you are to live else. Youre too lazy for a gamekeeper; and I dont think you could keep a pothouse, you are so addicted to drinking and quarrelling. The only thing I am quite clear upon is, that you and your wife must find some other abode than this. You shall depart this evening and now, Mr. and Mrs. Dudley Ruthyn, you may quit this room, if you please. Uncle Silas had risen, and made them one of his old courtly bows, smiling a deathlike sneer, and pointing to the door with his trembling fingers. Come, will ye? said Dudley, grinding his teeth. Youre pretty well done here. Not half understanding the situation, but looking woefully bewildered, she dropped a farewell courtesy at the door. Will ye cut? barked Dudley, in a tone that made her jump; and suddenly, without looking about, he strode after her from the room. Maud, how shall I recover this? The vulgar villainthe fool! What an abyss were we approaching! and for me the last hope goneand for me utter, utter, irretrievable ruin. He was passing his fingers tremulously back and forward along the top of the mantelpiece, like a man in search of something, and continued so, looking along it, feebly and vacantly, although there was nothing there. I wish, uncleyou do not know how much I wishI could be of any use to you. Maybe I can? He turned, and looked at me sharply. Maybe you can, he echoed slowly. Yes, maybe you can, he repeated more briskly. Let uslet us seelet us thinkthat d fellow!my head! Youre not well, uncle? Oh! yes, very well. Well talk in the eveningIll send for you. I found Wyat in the next room, and told her to hasten, as I thought he was ill. I hope it was not very selfish, but such had grown to be my horror of seeing him in one of his strange seizures, that I hastened from the room precipitatelypartly to escape the risk of being asked to remain. The walls of Bartram House are thick, and the recess at the doorway deep. As I closed my uncles door, I heard Dudleys voice on the stairs. I did not wish to be seen by him or by his lady, as his poor wife called herself, who was engaged in vehement dialogue with him as I emerged, and not caring either to reenter my uncles room, I remained quietly ensconced within the heavy doorcase, in which position I overheard Dudley say with a savage snarl Youll jest go back the way ye came. Im not goin wi ye, if thats what ye be drivin atdang your impitins! Oh! Dudley, dear, what have I donewhat have I doneye hate me so? What a ye done? Ye vicious little beast, ye! Youve got us turned out an disinherited wi yer dd bosh, thats all; dont ye think its enough? I could only hear her sobs and shrill tones in reply, for they were descending the stairs; and Mary Quince reported to me, in a horrified sort of way, that she saw him bundle her into the fly at the door, like a truss of hay into a hayloft. And he stood with his head in at the window, scolding her, till it drove away. I knew he wor jawing her, poor thing! By the way he kep waggin his headan he had his fist inside, a shakin in her face Im sure he looked wicked enough for anything; an she a crying like a babby, an lookin back, an wavin her wet hankicher to himpoor thing!and she so young! Tis a pity. Dear me! I often think, Miss, tis well for me I never was married. And see how we all would like to get husbands for all that, though so few is happy together. Tis a queer world, and them thats single is maybe the best off after all. XVII The Picture of a Wolf I went down that evening to the sittingroom which had been assigned to Milly and me, in search of a bookmy good Mary Quince always attending me. The door was a little open, and I was startled by the light of a candle proceeding from the fireside, together with a considerable aroma of tobacco and brandy. On my little worktable, which he had drawn beside the hearth, lay Dudleys pipe, his brandyflask, and an empty tumbler; and he was sitting with one foot on the fender, his elbow on his knee, and his head resting in his hand, weeping. His back being a little toward the door, he did not perceive us; and we saw him rub his knuckles in his eyes, and heard the sounds of his selfish lamentation. Mary and I stole away quietly, leaving him in possession, wondering when he was to leave the house, according to the sentence which I had heard pronounced upon him. I was delighted to see old Giblets quietly strapping his luggage in the hall, and heard from him in a whisper that he was to leave that evening by railhe did not know whither. About half an hour afterwards, Mary Quince, going out to reconnoitre, heard from old Wyat in the lobby that he had just started to meet the train. Blessed be heaven for that deliverance! An evil spirit had been cast out, and the house looked lighter and happier. It was not until I sat down in the quiet of my room that the scenes and images of that agitating day began to move before my memory in orderly procession, and for the first time I appreciated, with a stunning sense of horror and a perfect rapture of thanksgiving, the value of my escape and the immensity of the danger which had threatened me. It may have been miserable weaknessI think it was. But I was young, nervous, and afflicted with a troublesome sort of conscience, which occasionally went mad, and insisted, in small things as well as great, upon sacrifices which my reason now assures me were absurd. Of Dudley I had a perfect horror; and yet had that system of solicitation, that dreadful and direct appeal to my compassion, that placing of my feeble girlhood in the seat of the arbiter of my aged uncles hope or despair, been long persisted in, my resistance might have been worn outwho can tell?and I selfsacrificed! Just as criminals in Germany are teased, and watched, and crossexamined, year after year, incessantly, into a sort of madness; and worn out with the suspense, the iteration, the selfrestraint, and insupportable fatigue, they at last cut all short, accuse themselves, and go infinitely relieved to the scaffoldyou may guess, then, for me, nervous, selfdiffident, and alone, how intense was the comfort of knowing that Dudley was actually married, and the harrowing importunity which had just commenced forever silenced. That night I saw my uncle. I pitied him, though I feared him. I was longing to tell him how anxious I was to help him, if only he could point out the way. It was in substance what I had already said, but now strongly urged. He brightened; he sat up perpendicularly in his chair with a countenance, not weak or fatuous now, but resolute and searching, and which contracted into dark thought or calculation as I talked. I dare say I spoke confusedly enough. I was always nervous in his presence; there was, I fancy, something mesmeric in the odd sort of influence which, without effort, he exercised over my imagination. Sometimes this grew into a dismal panic, and Uncle Silaspolished, mildseemed unaccountably horrible to me. Then it was no longer an accidental fascination of electrobiology. It was something more. His nature was incomprehensible by me. He was without the nobleness, without the freshness, without the softness, without the frivolities of such human nature as I had experienced, either within myself or in other persons. I instinctively felt that appeals to sympathies or feelings could no more affect him than a marble monument. He seemed to accommodate his conversation to the moral structure of others, just as spirits are said to assume the shape of mortals. There were the sensualities of the gourmet for his body, and there ended his human nature, as it seemed to me. Through that semitransparent structure I thought I could now and then discern the light or the glare of his inner life. But I understood it not. He never scoffed at what was good or noblehis hardest critic could not nail him to one such sentence; and yet, it seemed somehow to me that his unknown nature was a systematic blasphemy against it all. If fiend he was, he was yet something higher than the garrulous, and withal feeble, demon of Goethe. He assumed the limbs and features of our mortal nature. He shrouded his own, and was a profoundly reticent Mephistopheles. Gentle he had been to mekindly he had nearly always spoken; but it seemed like the mild talk of one of those goblins of the desert, whom Asiatic superstition tells of, who appear in friendly shapes to stragglers from the caravan, beckon to them from afar, call them by their names, and lead them where they are found no more. Was, then, all his kindness but a phosphoric radiance covering something colder and more awful than the grave? It is very noble of you, Maudit is angelic; your sympathy with a ruined and despairing old man. But I fear you will recoil. I tell you frankly that less than twenty thousand pounds will not extricate me from the quag of ruin in which I am entangledlost! Recoil! Far from it. Ill do it. There must be some way. Enough, my fair young protectresscelestial enthusiast, enough. Though you do not, yet I recoil. I could not bring myself to accept this sacrifice. What signifies, even to me, my extrication? I lie a mangled wretch, with fifty mortal wounds on my crown; what avails the healing of one wound, when there are so many beyond all cure? Better to let me perish where I fall; and reserve your money for the worthier objects whom, perhaps, hereafter may avail to save. But I will do this. I must. I cannot see you suffer with the power in my hands unemployed to help you, I exclaimed. Enough, dear Maud; the will is hereenough there is balm in your compassion and goodwill. Leave me, ministering angel; for the present I cannot. If you will, we can talk of it again. Good night. And so we parted. The attorney from Feltram, I afterwards heard, was with him nearly all that night, trying in vain to devise by their joint ingenuity any means by which I might tie myself up. But there were none. I could not bind myself. I was myself full of the hope of helping him. What was this sum to me, great as it seemed? Truly nothing. I could have spared it, and never felt the loss. I took up a large quarto with coloured prints, one of the few books I had brought with me from dear old Knowl. Too much excited to hope for sleep in bed, I opened it, and turned over the leaves, my mind still full of Uncle Silas and the sum I hoped to help him with. Unaccountably one of those coloured engravings arrested my attention. It represented the solemn solitude of a lofty forest; a girl, in Swiss costume, was flying in terror, and as she fled flinging a piece of meat behind her which she had taken from a little marketbasket hanging upon her arm. Through the glade a pack of wolves were pursuing her. The narrative told, that on her return homeward with her marketing, she had been chased by wolves, and barely escaped by flying at her utmost speed, from time to time retarding, as she did so, the pursuit, by throwing, piece by piece, the contents of her basket, in her wake, to be devoured and fought for by the famished beasts of prey. This print had seized my imagination. I looked with a curious interest on the print something in the disposition of the trees, their great height, and rude boughs, interlacing, and the awful shadow beneath, reminded me of a portion of the Windmill Wood where Milly and I had often rambled. Then I looked at the figure of the poor girl, flying for her life, and glancing terrified over her shoulder. Then I gazed on the gaping, murderous pack, and the hoary brute that led the van; and then I leaned back in my chair, and I thoughtperhaps some latent association suggested what seemed a thing so unlikelyof a fine print in my portfolio from van Dycks noble picture of Belisarius. Idly I traced with my pencil, as I leaned back, on an envelope that lay upon the table, this little inscription. It was mere fiddling; and, absurd as it looked, there was nothing but an honest meaning in it20,000. Date Obolum Belisario! My dear father had translated the little Latin inscription for me, and I had written it down as a sort of exercise of memory; and also, perhaps, as expressive of that sort of compassion which my uncles fall and miserable fate excited invariably in me. So I threw this queer little memorandum upon the open leaf of the book, and again the flight, the pursuit, and the bait to stay it, engaged my eye. And I heard a voice near the hearthstone, as I thought, say, in a stern whisper, Fly the fangs of Belisarius! Whats that? said I, turning sharply to Mary Quince. Mary rose from her work at the fireside, staring at me with that odd sort of frown that accompanies fear and curiosity. You spoke? Did you speak? I said, catching her by the arm, very much frightened myself. No, Miss; no, dear! answered she, plainly thinking that I was a little wrong in my head. There could be no doubt it was a trick of the imagination, and yet to this hour I could recognise that clear stern voice among a thousand, were it to speak again. Jaded after a night of broken sleep and much agitation, I was summoned next morning to my uncles room. He received me oddly, I thought. His manner had changed, and made an uncomfortable impression upon me. He was gentle, kind, smiling, submissive, as usual; but it seemed to me that he experienced henceforth toward me the same halfsuperstitous repulsion which I had always felt from him. Dream, or voice, or visionwhich had done it? There seemed to be an unconscious antipathy and fear. When he thought I was not looking, his eyes were sometimes grimly fixed for a moment upon me. When I looked at him, his eyes were upon the book before him; and when he spoke, a person not heeding what he uttered would have fancied that he was reading aloud from it. There was nothing tangible but this shrinking from the encounter of our eyes. I said he was kind as usual. He was even more so. But there was this new sign of our silently repellant natures. Dislike it could not be. He knew I longed to serve him. Was it shame? Was there not a shade of horror in it? I have not slept, said he. For me the night has passed in thought, and the fruit of it is thisI cannot, Maud, accept your noble offer. I am very sorry, exclaimed I, in all honesty. I know it, my dear niece, and appreciate your goodness; but there are many reasonsnone of them, I trust, ignobleand which together render it impossible. No. It would be misunderstoodmy honour shall not be impugned. But, sir, that could not be; you have never proposed it. It would be all, from first to last, my doing. True, dear Maud, but I know, alas! more of this evil and slanderous world than your happy inexperience can do. Who will receive our testimony? Noneno, not one. The difficultythe insuperable moral difficulty is thisthat I should expose myself to the plausible imputation of having worked upon you, unduly, for this end; and more, that I could not hold myself quite free from blame. It is your voluntary goodness, Maud.


But you are young, inexperienced; and it is, I hold it, my duty to stand between you and any dealing with your property at so unripe an age. Some people may call this quixotic. In my mind it is an imperious mandate of conscience; and I peremptorily refuse to disobey it, although within three weeks an execution will be in this house! I did not quite know what an execution meant; but from two harrowing novels, with whose distresses I was familiar, I knew that it indicated some direful process of legal torture and spoliation. Oh, uncle Ioh, sir!you cannot allow this to happen. What will people say of me? Andand there is poor Millyand everything! Think what it will be. It cannot be helpedyou cannot help it, Maud. Listen to me. There will be an execution here, I cannot say exactly how soon, but, I think, in a little more than a fortnight. I must provide for your comfort. You must leave. I have arranged that you shall join Milly, for the present, in France, till I have time to look about me. You had better, I think, write to your cousin, Lady Knollys. She, with all her oddities, has a heart. Can you say, Maud, that I have been kind? You have never been anything but kind, I exclaimed. That Ive been selfdenying when you made me a generous offer? he continued. That I now act to spare you pain? You may tell her, not as a message from me, but as a fact, that I am seriously thinking of vacating my guardianshipthat I feel I have done her an injustice, and that, so soon as my mind is a little less tortured, I shall endeavour to effect a reconciliation with her, and would wish ultimately to transfer the care of your person and education to her. You may say I have no longer an interest even in vindicating my name. My son has wrecked himself by a marriage. I forgot to tell you he stopped at Feltram, and this morning wrote to pray a parting interview. If I grant it, it shall be the last. I shall never see him or correspond with him more. The old man seemed much overcome, and held his hankerchief to his eyes. He and his wife are, I understand, about to emigrate; the sooner the better, he resumed, bitterly. Deeply, Maud, I regret having tolerated his suit to you, even for a moment. Had I thought it over, as I did the whole case last night, nothing could have induced me to permit it. But I have lived for so long like a monk in his cell, my wants and observation limited to the narrow compass of this chamber, that my knowledge of the world has died out with my youth and my hopes and I did not, as I ought to have done, consider many objections. Therefore, dear Maud, on this one subject, I entreat, be silent; its discussion can effect nothing now. I was wrong, and frankly ask you to forget my mistake. I had been on the point of writing to Lady Knollys on this odious subject, when, happily, it was set at rest by the disclosure of yesterday; and being so, I could have no difficulty in acceding to my uncles request. He was conceding so much that I could not withhold so trifling a concession in return. I hope Monica will continue to be kind to poor Milly after I am gone. Here there were a few seconds of meditation. Maud, you will not, I think, refuse to convey the substance of what I have just said in a letter to Lady Knollys, and perhaps you would have no objection to let me see it when it is written. It will prevent the possibility of its containing any misconception of what I have just spoken and, Maud, you wont forget to say whether I have been kind. It would be a satisfaction to me to know that Monica was assured that I never either teased or bullied my young ward. With these words he dismissed me; and forthwith I completed such a letter as would quite embody what he had said; and in my own glowing terms, being in high goodhumour with Uncle Silas, recorded my estimate of his gentleness and goodnature; and when I submitted it to him, he expressed his admiration of what he was pleased to call my cleverness in so exactly conveying what he wished, and his gratitude for the handsome terms in which I had spoken of my old guardian. XVIII An Odd Proposal As I and Mary Quince returned from our walk that day, and had entered the hall, I was surprised most disagreeably by Dudleys emerging from the vestibule at the foot of the great staircase. He was, I suppose, in his travelling costumea rather soiled white surtout, a great coloured muffler in folds about his throat, his chimneypot on, and his fur cap sticking out from his pocket. He had just descended, I suppose, from my uncles room. On seeing me he stepped back, and stood with his shoulders to the wall, like a mummy in a museum. I pretended to have a few words to say to Mary before leaving the hall, in the hope that, as he seemed to wish to escape me, he would take the opportunity of getting quickly off the scene. But he had changed his mind, it would seem, in the interval; for when I glanced in that direction again he had moved toward us, and stood in the hall with his hat in his hand. I must do him the justice to say he looked horribly dismal, sulky, and frightened. Yell gie me a word, Missonly a thing I ought to sayfor your good; by , mind, its for your good, Miss. Dudley stood a little way off, viewing me, with his hat in both hands and a glooming countenance. I detested the idea of either hearing or speaking to him; but I had no resolution to refuse, and only saying I cant imagine what you can wish to speak to me about, I approached him. Wait there at the banister, Quince. There was a fragrance of alcohol about the flushed face and gaudy muffler of this odious cousin, which heightened the effect of his horribly dismal features. He was speaking, besides, a little thickly; but his manner was dejected, and he was treating me with an elaborate and discomfited respect which reassured me. Im a bit up a tree, Miss, he said shuffling his feet on the oak floor. I behaved a d fool; but I baint one o they sort. Im a fellah as ill fight his man, an stan up to m fair, dont ye see? An baint one o they sortno, dang it, I baint. Dudley delivered his puzzling harangue with a good deal of undertoned vehemence, and was strangely agitated. He, too, had got an unpleasant way of avoiding my eye, and glancing along the floor from corner to corner as he spoke, which gave him a very hangdog air. He was twisting his fingers in his great sandy whisker, and pulling it roughly enough to drag his cheek about by that savage purchase; and with his other hand he was crushing and rubbing his hat against his knee. The old boy above there be half crazed, I think; he dont mean half as he says thof, not he. But Im in a bad fix anyhowa regular sell its been, and I cant get a tizzy out of him. So, ye see, Im up a tree, Miss; and he sich a one, hell make it a wuss mull if I let him. Hes as sharp wi me as one o them lawyer chaps, dang em, and hes a lot of I Os and rubbitch o mine; and Bryerly writes to me he cant gie me my legacy, cause hes got a notice from Archer and Sleigh a warnin him not to gie me as much as a bob; for I signed it away to governor, he sayswhich I believes a lie. I may a signed some writingappen I didwhen I was a bit cut one night. But thats no way to catch a gentleman, and twont stand. Theres justice to be had, and twont stand, I say; and Im not in is hands that way. Thof I may be a bit up the spout, too, I dont deny; only I baint agoin the whole hog all at once. Im none o they sort. Hell find I baint. Here Mary Quince coughed demurely from the foot of the stair, to remind me that the conversation was protracted. I dont very well understand, I said gravely; and I am now going upstairs. Dont jest a minute, Miss; its only a word, ye see. Well be goin t Australia, Sary Mangles, an me, aboard the Seamew, on the 5th. Im for Liverpool tonight, and shell meet me there, anan, please God Almighty, yell never see me more; an Id rather gie ye a lift, Maud, before I go an I tell ye what, if yell just gie me your written promise yell gie me that twenty thousand ye were offering to gie the Governor, Ill take ye cleverly out o Bartram, and put ye wi your cousin Knollys, or anywhere ye like best. Take me from Bartramfor twenty thousand pounds! Take me away from my guardian! You seem to forget, sir, my indignation rising as I spoke, that I can visit my cousin, Lady Knollys, whenever I please. Well, that is as it may be, he said, with a sulky deliberation, scraping about a little bit of paper that lay on the floor with the toe of his boot. It is as it may be, and that is as I say, sir; and considering how you have treated meyour mean, treacherous, and infamous suit, and your cruel treason to your poor wife, I am amazed at your effrontery. I turned to leave him, being, in truth, in one of my passions. Dont ye be a flyin out, he said peremptorily, and catching me roughly by the wrist, I baint agoing to vex ye. What a mouth you be, as cant see your way! Cant ye speak wi common sense, like a womandang itfor once, and not keep brawling like a bratcant ye see what Im saying? Ill take ye out o all this, and put ye wi your cousin, or wheresoever you list, if yell gie me what I say. He was, for the first time, looking me in the face, but with contracted eyes, and a countenance very much agitated. Money? said I, with a prompt disdain. Ay, moneytwenty thousand poundsthere. On or off? he replied, with an unpleasant sort of effort. You ask my promise for twenty thousand pounds, and you shant have it. My cheeks were flaming, and I stamped on the ground as I spoke. If he had known how to appeal to my better feelings, I am sure I should have done, perhaps not quite that, all at once at least, but something handsome, to assist him. But this application was so shabby and insolent! What could he take me for? That I should suppose his placing me with Cousin Monica constituted her my guardian? Why, he must fancy me the merest baby. There was a kind of stupid cunning in this that disgusted my goodnature and outraged my selfimportance. You wont gie me that, then? he said, looking down again, with a frown, and working his mouth and cheeks about as I could fancy a man rolling a piece of tobacco in his jaw. Certainly not, sir, I replied. Take it, then, he replied, still looking down, very black and discontented. I joined Mary Quince, extremely angry. As I passed under the carved oak arch of the vestibule, I saw his figure in the deepening twilight. The picture remains in its murky halo fixed in memory. Standing where he last spoke in the centre of the hall, not looking after me, but downward, and, as well as I could see, with the countenance of a man who has lost a game, and a ruinous wager toothat is black and desperate. I did not utter a syllable on the way up. When I reached my room, I began to reconsider the interview more at my leisure. I was, such were my ruminations, to have agreed at once to his preposterous offer, and to have been driven, while he smirked and grimaced behind my back at his acquaintances, through Feltram in his dogcart to Elverston; and then, to the just indignation of my uncle, to have been delivered up to Lady Knollys guardianship, and to have handed my driver, as I alighted, the handsome fare of 20,000. It required the impudence of Tony Lumpkin, without either his fun or his shrewdness, to have conceived such a prodigious practical joke. Maybe youd like a little tea, Miss? insinuated Mary Quince. What impertinence! I exclaimed, with one of my angry stamps on the floor. Not you, dear old Quince, I added. Nono tea just now. And I resumed my ruminations, which soon led me to this train of thoughtStupid and insulting as Dudleys proposition was, it yet involved a great treason against my uncle. Should I be weak enough to be silent, may he not, wishing to forestall me, misrepresent all that has passed, so as to throw the blame altogether upon me? This idea seized upon me with a force which I could not withstand; and on the impulse of the moment I obtained admission to my uncle, and related exactly what had passed. When I had finished my narrative, which he listened to without once raising his eyes, my uncle cleared his throat once or twice, as if to speak. He was smilingI thought with an effort, and with elevated brows. When I concluded, he hummed one of those sliding notes, which a less refined man might have expressed by a whistle of surprise and contempt, and again he essayed to speak, but continued silent. The fact is, he seemed to me very much disconcerted. He rose from his seat, and shuffled about the room in his slippers, I believe affecting only to be in search of something, opening and shutting two or three drawers, and turning over some books and papers; and at length, taking up some loose sheets of manuscript, he appeared to have found what he was looking for, and began to read them carelessly, with his back towards me, and with another effort to clear his voice, he said at last And pray, what could the fool mean by all that? I think he must have taken me for an idiot, sir, I answered. Not unlikely. He has lived in a stable, among horses and ostlers; he has always seemed to me something like a centaurthat is a centaur composed not of man and horse, but of an ape and an ass. And upon this jibe he laughed, not coldly and sarcastically, as was his wont, but, I thought, flurriedly. And, continuing to look into his papers, he said, his back still toward me as he read And he did not favour you with an exposition of his meaning, which, except in so far as it estimated his deserts at the modest sum you have named, appears to me too oracular to be interpreted without a kindred inspiration? And again he laughed. He was growing more like himself. As to your visiting your cousin, Lady Knollys, the stupid rogue had only five minutes before heard me express my wish that you should do so before leaving this. I am quite resolved you shallthat is, unless, dear Maud, you should yourself object; but, of course, we must wait for an invitation, which, I conjecture, will not be long in coming. In fact, your letter will naturally bring it about, and, I trust, open the way to a permanent residence with her. The more I think it over, the more am I convinced, dear niece, that as things are likely to turn out, my roof would be no desirable shelter for you; and that, under all circumstances, hers would. Such were my motives, Maud, in opening, through your letter, a door of reconciliation between us. I felt that I ought to have kissed his handthat he had indicated precisely the future that I most desired; and yet there was within me a vague feeling, akin to suspicionakin to dismay which chilled and overcast my soul. But, Maud, he said, I am disquieted to think of that stupid jackanapes presuming to make you such an offer! A creditable situation trulyarriving in the dark at Elverston, under the solitary escort of that wild young man, with whom you would have fled from my guardianship; and, Maud, I tremble as I ask myself the question, would he have conducted you to Elverston at all? When you have lived as long in the world as I, you will appreciate its wickedness more justly. Here there was a little pause. I know, my dear, that were he convinced of his legal marriage with that young woman, he resumed, perceiving how startled I looked, such an idea, of course, would not have entered his head; but he does not believe any such thing. Contrary to fact and logic, he does honestly think that his hand is still at his disposal; and I certainly do suspect that he would have employed that excursion in endeavouring to persuade you to think as he does. Be that how it may, however, it is satisfactory to me to know that you shall never more be troubled by one word from that illregulated young man. I made him my adieux, such as they were, this evening; and never more shall he enter the walls of BartramHaugh while we two live. Uncle Silas replaced the papers which had ostensibly interested him so much, and returned. There was a vein which was visible near the angle of his lofty temple, and in moments of agitation stood out against the surrounding pallor in a knotted blue cord; and as he came back smiling askance, I saw this sign of inward tumult. We can, however, afford to despise the follies and knaveries of the world, Maud, as long as we act, as we have hitherto done, with perfect confidence in each other. Heaven bless you, dear Maud! Your report troubled me, I believe, more than it needtroubled me a good deal; but reflection assures me it is nothing. He is gone. In a few days time he will be on the sea. I will issue my orders tomorrow morning, and he will never more, during his brief stay in England, gain admission to BartramHaugh. Good night, my good niece; I thank you. And so I returned to Mary Quince, on the whole happier than I had left her, but still with the confused and jarring vision I could not interpret perpetually rising before me; and as, from time to time, shapeless anxieties agitated me, relieving them by appeals to Him who alone is wise and strong. Next day brought me a goodnatured gossiping letter from dear Milly, written in compulsory French, which was, in some places, very difficult to interpret. She gave me a very pleasant account of the place, and her opinion of the girls who were inmates, and mentioned some of the nuns with high commendation. The language plainly cramped poor Millys genius; but although there was by no means so much fun as an honest English letter would have brought me, there could be no mistake about her liking the place, and she expressed her honest longing to see me in the most affectionate terms. This letter came enclosed in one to my uncle, from the proper authority in the convent; and as there was neither address within, nor postmark without, I was as much in the dark as ever as to poor Millys whereabouts. Pencilled across the envelope of this letter, in my uncles hand, were the words, Let me have your answer when sealed, and I will transmit it.S. R. When, accordingly, some days later, I did place my letter to Milly in my uncles hands, he told me the reason of his reserves on the subject. I thought it best, dear Maud, not to plague you with a secret, and Millys present address is one. It will in a few weeks become the rallyingpoint of our diverse routes, when you shall meet her, and I join you both. Nobody, until the storm shall have blown over, must know where I am to be found, except my lawyer; and I think you would prefer ignorance to the trouble of keeping a secret on which so much may depend. This being reasonable, and even considerate, I acquiesced. In that interval there reached me such a charming, gay, and affectionate lettera very long letter, toothough the writer was scarcely seven miles away, from dear Cousin Monica, full of pleasant gossip, and rosecoloured and golden castles in the air, and the kindest interest in poor Milly, and the warmest affection for me. One other incident varied that interval, if possible more pleasantly than those. It was the announcement, in a Liverpool paper, of the departure of the Seamew, bound for Melbourne; and among the passengers were reported Dudley Ruthyn, Esquire, of BartramH., and Mrs. D. Ruthyn. And now I began to breathe freely, I plainly saw the end of my probation approaching a short excursion to France, a happy meeting with Milly, and then a delightful residence with Cousin Monica for the remainder of my nonage. You will say then that my spirits and my serenity were quite restored. Not quite. How marvellously lie our anxieties, in filmy layers, one over the other! Take away that which has lain on the upper surface for so longthe care of caresthe only one, as it seemed to you, between your soul and the radiance of Heavenand straight you find a new stratum there. As physical science tells us no fluid is without its skin, so does it seem with this fine medium of the soul, and these successive films of care that form upon its surface on mere contact with the upper air and light. What was my new trouble? A very fantastic one, you will saythe illusion of a selftormentor. It was the face of Uncle Silas which haunted me. Notwithstanding the old pale smile, there was a shrinking grimness, and the alwaysaverted look. Sometimes I fancied his mind was disordered. I could not account for the eerie lights and shadows that flickered on his face, except so. There was a look of shame and fear of me, amazing as that seems, in the sheen of his peaked smile. I thought, Perhaps he blames himself for having tolerated Dudleys suitfor having urged it on grounds of personal distressfor having altogether lowered, though under sore temptation, both himself and his office; and he thinks that he has forfeited my respect. Such was my analysis; but in the coupdoeil of that white face that dazzled me in darkness, and haunted my daily reveries with a faded light, there was an intangible character of the insidious and the terrible. XIX In Search of Mr. Charkes Skeleton On the whole, however, I was unspeakably relieved. Dudley Ruthyn, Esq., and Mrs. D. Ruthyn, were now skimming the blue waves on the wings of the Seamew, and every morning widened the distance between us, which was to go on increasing until it measured a point on the antipodes. The Liverpool paper containing this golden line was carefully preserved in my room; and like the gentleman who, when much tried by the shrewish heiress whom he had married, used to retire to his closet and read over his marriage settlement, I used, when blue devils haunted me, to unfold my newspaper and read the paragraph concerning the Seamew. The day I now speak of was a dismal one of sleety snow. My own room seemed to me cheerier than the lonely parlour, where I could not have had good Mary Quince so decorously. A good fire, that kind and trusty face, the peep I had just indulged in at my favourite paragraph, and the certainty of soon seeing my dear cousin Monica, and afterwards affectionate Milly, raised my spirits. So, said I, as old Wyat, you say, is laid up with rheumatism, and cant turn up to scold me, I think Ill run upstairs and make an exploration, and find poor Mr. Charkes skeleton in a closet. Oh, law, Miss Maud, how can you say such things! exclaimed good old Quince, lifting up her honest grey head and round eyes from her knitting. I had grown so familiar with the frightful tradition of Mr. Charke and his suicide, that I could now afford to frighten old Quince with him. I am quite serious. I am going to have a ramble upstairs and downstairs, like gooseygooseygander; and if I do light upon his chamber, it is all the more interesting. I feel so like Adelaide, in the Romance of the Forest, the book I was reading to you last night, when she commenced her delightful rambles through the interminable ruined abbey in the forest. Shall I go with you, Miss? No, Quince; stay there; keep a good fire, and make some tea. I suspect I shall lose heart and return very soon; and with a shawl about me, cowl fashion, over my head, I stole upstairs. I shall not recount with the particularity of the conscientious heroine of Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, all the suites of apartments, corridors, and lobbies, which I threaded in my ramble. It will be enough to mention that I lighted upon a door at the end of a long gallery, which, I think, ran parallel with the front of the house; it interested me because it had the air of having been very long undisturbed. There were two rusty bolts, which did not evidently belong to its original securities, and had been, though very long ago, somewhat clumsily superadded. Dusty and rusty they were, but I had no difficulty in drawing them back. There was a rusty key, I remember it well, with a crooked handle in the lock; I tried to turn it, but could not. My curiosity was piqued. I was thinking of going back and getting Mary Quinces assistance. It struck me, however, that possibly it was not locked, so I pulled the door and it opened quite easily. I did not find myself in a strangelyfurnished suite of apartments, but at the entrance of a gallery, which diverged at right angles from that through which I had just passed; it was very imperfectly lighted, and ended in total darkness. I began to think how far I had already come, and to consider whether I could retrace my steps with accuracy in case of a panic, and I had serious thoughts of returning. The idea of Mr. Charke was growing unpleasantly sharp and menacing; and as I looked down the long space before me, losing itself among ambiguous shadows, lulled in a sinister silence, and as it were inviting my entrance like a trap, I was very near yielding to the cowardly impulse. But I took heart of grace and determined to see a little more. I opened a sidedoor, and entered a large room, where were, in a corner, some rusty and cobwebbed birdcages, but nothing more. It was a wainscoted room, but a white mildew stained the panels. I looked from the window it commanded that dismal, weedchoked quadrangle into which I had once looked from another window. I opened a door at its farther end, and entered another chamber, not quite so large, but equally dismal, with the same prisonlike lookout, not very easily discerned through the grimy panes and the sleet that was falling thickly outside. The door through which I had entered made a little accidental creak, and, with my heart at my lips, I gazed at it, expecting to see Charke, or the skeleton of which I had talked so lightly, stalk in at the halfopen aperture. But I had an odd sort of courage which was always fighting against my cowardly nerves, and I walked to the door, and looking up and down the dismal passage, was reassured. Well, one room morejust that whose deepset door fronted me, with a melancholy frown, at the opposite end of the chamber. So to it I glided, shoved it open, advancing one step, and the great bony figure of Madame de la Rougierre was before me. I could see nothing else. The drowsy traveller who opens his sheets to slip into bed, and sees a scorpion coiled between them, may have experienced a shock the same in kind, but immeasurably less in degree. She sat in a clumsy old armchair, with an ancient shawl about her, and her bare feet in a delft tub. She looked a thought more withered. Her wig shoved back disclosed her bald wrinkled forehead, and enhanced the ugly effect of her exaggerated features and the gaunt hollows of her face. With a sense of incredulity and terror I gazed, freezing, at this evil phantom, who returned my stare for a few seconds with a shrinking scowl, dismal and grim, as of an evil spirit detected. The meeting, at least then and there, was as complete a surprise for her as for me. She could not tell how I might take it; but she quickly rallied, burst into a loud screeching laugh, and, with her old Walpurgis gaiety, danced some fantastic steps in her bare wet feet, tracking the floor with water, and holding out with finger and thumb, in dainty caricature, her slammakin old skirt, while she sang some of her nasal patois with an abominable hilarity and emphasis. With a gasp, I too recovered from the fascination of the surprise. I could not speak though for some seconds, and Madame was first. Ah, dear Maud, what surprise! Are we not overjoy, dearest, and cannot speak? I am full of joyquite charmedravieof seeing you. So are you of me, your face betray. Ah! yes, thou dear little baboon! here is poor Madame once more! Who could have imagine? I thought you were in France, Madame, I said, with a dismal effort. And so I was, dear Maud; I av just arrive. Your uncle Silas he wrote to the superioress for gouvernante to accompany a young ladythat is you, Maudon her journey, and she send me; and so, ma chre, here is poor Madame arrive to charge herself of that affair. How soon do we leave for France, Madame? I asked. I do not know, but the old womenwat is her name? Wyat, I suggested. Oh! oui, Waiatt;she says two, three week. And who conduct you to poor Madames apartment, my dear Maud? She inquired insinuatingly. No one, I answered promptly I reached it quite accidentally, and I cant imagine why you should conceal yourself. Something like indignation kindled in my mind as I began to wonder at the sly strategy which had been practised upon me. I av not conceal myself, Mademoiselle, retorted the governness. I av act precisally as I av been ordered. Your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, he is afraid, Waiatt says, to be interrupted by his creditors, and everything must be done very quaitly. I have been commanded to avoid me faire voir, you know, and I must obey my employervoil tout! And for how long have you been residing here? I persisted, in the same resentful vein.  Bout a week. It is soche triste place! I am so glad to see you, Maud! Ive been so isole, you dear leetle fool! You are not glad, Madame; you dont love meyou never did, I exclaimed with sudden vehemence. Yes, I am very glad; you know not, chre petite niaise, how I av desire to educate you a leetle more. Let us understand one another. You think I do not love you, Mademoiselle, because you have mentioned to your poor papa that little drglement in his library. I have repent very often that so great indiscretion of my life. I thought to find some letters of Dr. Braierly. I think that man was trying to get your property, my dear Maud, and if I had found something I would tell you all about. But it was very great sottise, and you were very right to denounce me to Monsieur. Je nai point de rancune contre vous. No, no, none at all. On the contrary, I shall be your gardienne tutelairewat you call?guardian angelah, yes, that is it. You think I speak par drision; not at all. No, my dear cheaile, I do not speak par moquerie, unless perhaps the very least degree in the world. And with these words Madame laughed unpleasantly, showing the black caverns at the side of her mouth, and with a cold, steady malignity in her gaze. Yes, I said; I know what you mean, Madameyou hate me. Oh! wat great ogly word! I am shock! Vous me faites honte. Poor Madame, she never hate anyone; she loves all her friends, and her enemies she leaves to Heaven; while I am, as you see, more gay, more joyeuse than ever, they have not been appyno, they have not been fortunate these others. Wen I return, I find always some of my enemy they av die, and some they have put themselves into embarrassment, or there has arrived to them some misfortune; and Madame shrugged and laughed a little scornfully. A kind of horror chilled my rising anger, and I was silent. You see, my dear Maud, it is very natural you should think I hate you. When I was with Mr. Austin Ruthyn, at Knowl, you know you did not like a menever. But in consequence of our intimacy I confide you that which I av of most dear in the world, my reputation. It is always so. The pupil can calomniate, without been discover, the gouvernante. Av I not been always kind to you, Maud? Which av I use of violence or of sweetness the most? I am, like other persons, jalouse de ma rputation; and it was difficult to suffer with patience the banishment which was invoked by you, because chiefly for your good, and for an indiscretion to which I was excited by motives the most pure and laudable. It was you who spied so cleverlyeh! and denounce me to Monsieur Ruthyn? Helas! wat bad world it is! I do not mean to speak at all about that occurrence, Madame; I will not discuss it. I dare say what you tell me of the cause of your engagement here is true, and I suppose we must travel, as you say, in company; but you must know that the less we see of each other while in this house the better. I am not so sure of that, my sweet little bte; your education has been neglected, or rather entirely abandoned, since you av arrive at this place, I am told. You must not be a bestiole. We must do, you and I, as we are ordered. Mr. Silas Ruthyn he will tell us. All this time Madame was pulling on her stockings, getting her boots on, and otherwise proceeding with her dowdy toilet.


I do not know why I stood there talking to her. We often act very differently from what we would have done upon reflection. I had involved myself in a dialogue, as wiser generals than I have entangled themselves in a general action when they meant only an affair of outposts. I had grown a little angry, and would not betray the least symptom of fear, although I felt that sensation profoundly. My beloved father thought you so unfit a companion for me that he dismissed you at an hours notice, and I am very sure that my uncle will think as he did; you are not a fit companion for me, and had my uncle known what had passed he would never have admitted you to this housenever! Helas! Quelle disgrace! And you really think so, my dear Maud, exclaimed Madame, adjusting her wig before her glass, in the corner of which I could see half of her sly, grinning face, as she ogled herself in it. I do, and so do you, Madame, I replied, growing more frightened. It may bewe shall see; but everyone is not so cruel as you, ma chre petite calomniatrice. You shant call me those names, I said, in an angry tremor. What name, dearest cheaile? Calomniatricethat is an insult. Why, my most foolish little Maud, we may say rogue, and a thousand other little words in play which we do not say seriously. You are not playingyou never playyou are angry, and you hate me, I exclaimed, vehemently. Oh, fie!wat shame! Do you not perceive, dearest cheaile, how much education you still need? You are proud, little demoiselle; you must become, on the contrary, quaite humble. Je ferai baiser le babouin  vousha, ha, ha! I weel make a you to kees the monkey. You are too proud, my dear cheaile. I am not such a fool as I was at Knowl, I said; you shall not terrify me here. I will tell my uncle the whole truth, I said. Well, it may be that is the best, she replied, with provoking coolness. You think I dont mean it? Of course you do, she replied. And we shall see what my uncle thinks of it. We shall see, my dear, she replied, with an air of mock contrition. Adieu, Madame! You are going to Monsieur Ruthyn?very good! I made her no answer, but more agitated than I cared to show her, I left the room. I hurried along the twilight passage, and turned into the long gallery that opened from it at right angles. I had not gone halfadozen steps on my return when I heard a heavy tread and a rustling behind me. I am ready, my dear; I weel accompany you, said the smirking phantom, hurrying after me. Very well, was my reply; and threading our way, with a few hesitations and mistakes, we reached and descended the stairs, and in a minute more stood at my uncles door. My uncle looked hard and strangely at us as we entered. He looked, indeed, as if his temper was violently excited, and glared and muttered to himself for a few seconds; and treating Madame to a stare of disgust, he asked peevishly Why am I disturbed, pray? Miss Maud a Ruthyn, she weel explain, replied Madame, with a great courtesy, like a boat going down in a ground swell. Will you explain, my dear? he asked, in his coldest and most sarcastic tone. I was agitated, and I am sure my statement was confused. I succeeded, however, in saying what I wanted. Why, Madame, this is a grave charge! Do you admit it, pray? Madame, with the coolest possible effrontery, denied it all; with the most solemn asseverations, and with streaming eyes and clasped hands, conjured me melodramatically to withdraw that intolerable story, and to do her justice. I stared at her for a while astounded, and turning suddenly to my uncle, as vehemently asserted the truth of every syllable I had related. You hear, my dear child, you hear her deny everything; what am I to think? You must excuse the bewilderment of my old head. Madame de lathat lady has arrived excellently recommended by the superioress of the place where dear Milly awaits you, and such persons are particular. It strikes me, my dear niece, that you must have made a mistake. I protested here. But he went on without seeming to hear the parenthesis I know, my dear Maud, that you are quite incapable of wilfully deceiving anyone; but you are liable to be deceived like other young people. You were, no doubt, very nervous, and but half awake when you fancied you saw the occurrence you describe; and Madame dede De la Rougierre, I supplied. Yes, thank youMadame de la Rougierre, who has arrived with excellent testimonials, strenuously denies the whole thing. Here is a conflict, my dearin my mind a presumption of mistake. I confess I should prefer that theory to a peremptory assumption of guilt. I felt incredulous and amazed; it seemed as if a dream were being enacted before me. A transaction of the most serious import, which I had witnessed with my own eyes, and described with unexceptionable minuteness and consistency, is discredited by that strange and suspicious old man with an imbecile coolness. It was quite in vain my reiterating my statement, backing it with the most earnest asseverations. I was beating the air. It did not seem to reach his mind. It was all received with a simper of feeble incredulity. He patted and smoothed my headhe laughed gently, and shook his while I insisted; and Madame protested her purity in now tranquil floods of innocent tears, and murmured mild and melancholy prayers for my enlightenment and reformation. I felt as if I should lose my reason. There now, dear Maud, we have heard enough; it is, I do believe, a delusion. Madame de la Rougierre will be your companion, at the utmost, for three or four weeks. Do exercise a little of your selfcommand and good senseyou know how I am tortured. Do not, I entreat, add to my perplexities. You may make yourself very happy with Madame if you will, I have no doubt. I propose to Mademoiselle, said Madame, drying her eyes with a gentle alacrity, to profit of my visit for her education. But she does not seem to weesh wat I think is so useful. She threatened me with some horrid French vulgarismde faire baiser le babouin  moi, whatever that means; and I know she hates me, I replied, impetuously. Doucementdoucement! said my uncle, with a smile at once amused and compassionate. Doucement! ma chre. With great hands and cunning eyes uplifted, Madame tearfullyfor her tears came on short noticeagain protested her absolute innocence. She had never in all her life so much as heard one so villain phrase. You see, my dear, you have misheard; young people never attend. You will do well to take advantage of Madames short residence to get up your French a little, and the more you are with her the better. I understand then, Mr. Ruthyn, you weesh I should resume my instructions? asked Madame. Certainly; and converse all you can in French with Mademoiselle Maud. You will be glad, my dear, that Ive insisted on it, he said, turning to me, when you have reached France, where you will find they speak nothing else. And now, dear Maudno, not a word moreyou must leave me. Farewell, Madame! And he waved us out a little impatiently; and I, without one look toward Madame de la Rougierre, stunned and incensed, walked into my room and shut the door. XX The Foot of Hercules I stood at the windowstill the same leaden sky and feathery sleet before metrying to estimate the magnitude of the discovery I had just made. Gradually a kind of despair seized me, and I threw myself passionately on my bed, weeping aloud. Good Mary Quince was, of course, beside me in a moment, with her pale, concerned face. Oh, Mary, Mary, shes comethat dreadful woman, Madame de la Rougierre, has come to be my governess again; and Uncle Silas wont hear or believe anything about her. It is vain talking; he is prepossessed. Was ever so unfortunate a creature as I? Who could have fancied or feared such a thing? Oh, Mary, Mary, what am I to do? what is to become of me? Am I never to shake off that vindictive, terrible woman? Mary said all she could to console me. I was making too much of her. What was she, after all, more than a governess?she could not hurt me. I was not a child no longershe could not bully me now; and my uncle, though he might be deceived for a while, would not be long finding her out. Thus and soforth did good Mary Quince declaim, and at last she did impress me a little, and I began to think that I had, perhaps, been making too much of Madames visit. But still imagination, that instrument and mirror of prophecy, showed her formidable image always on its surface, with a terrible moving background of shadows. In a few minutes there was a knock at my door, and Madame herself entered. She was in walking costume. There had been a brief clearing of the weather, and she proposed our making a promenade together. On seeing Mary Quince she broke into a rapture of compliment and greeting, and took what Mr. Richardson would have called her passive hand, and pressed it with wonderful tenderness. Honest Mary suffered all this somewhat reluctantly, never smiling, and, on the contrary, looking rather ruefully at her feet. Weel you make a some tea? When I come back, dear Mary Quince, I av so much to tell you and dear Miss Maud of all my adventures while I av been away; it will make a you laugh ever so much. I waswhat you theenk?near, ever so near to be married! And upon this she broke into a screeching laugh, and shook Mary Quince merrily by the shoulder. I sullenly declined going out, or rising; and when she had gone away, I told Mary that I should confine myself to my room while Madame stayed. But selfdenying ordinances selfimposed are not always long observed by youth. Madame de la Rougierre laid herself out to be agreeable; she had no end of storiesmore than half, no doubt, pure fictionsto tell, but all, in that triste place, amusing. Mary Quince began to entertain a better opinion of her. She actually helped to make beds, and tried to be in every way of use, and seemed to have quite turned over a new leaf; and so gradually she moved me, first to listen, and at last to talk. On the whole, these terms were better than a perpetual skirmish; but, notwithstanding all her gossip and friendliness, I continued to have a profound distrust and even terror of her. She seemed curious about the BartramHaugh family, and all their ways, and listened darkly when I spoke. I told her, bit by bit, the whole story of Dudley, and she used, whenever there was news of the Seamew, to read the paragraph for my benefit; and in poor Millys battered little Atlas she used to trace the ships course with a pencil, writing in, from point to point, the date at which the vessel was spoken at sea. She seemed amused at the irrepressible satisfaction with which I received these minutes of his progress; and she used to calculate the distance;on such a day he was two hundred and sixty miles, on such another five hundred; the last point was more than eight hundredgood, better, bestbest of all would be those deleecious antipode, were he would so soon promener on his head twelve thousand mile away; and at the conceit she would fall into screams of laughter. Laugh as she might, however, there was substantial comfort in thinking of the boundless stretch of blue wave that rolled between me and that villainous cousin. I was now on very odd terms with Madame. She had not relapsed into her favourite vein of oracular sarcasm and menace; she had, on the contrary, affected her goodhumoured and genial vein. But I was not to be deceived by this. I carried in my heart that deepseated fear of her which her unpleasant goodhumour and gaiety never disturbed for a moment. I was very glad, therefore, when she went to Todcaster by rail, to make some purchases for the journey which we were daily expecting to commence; and happy in the opportunity of a walk, good old Mary Quince and I set forth for a little ramble. As I wished to make some purchases in Feltram, I set out, with Mary Quince for my companion. On reaching the great gate we found it locked. The key, however, was in it, and as it required more than the strength of my hand to turn, Mary tried it. At the same moment old Crowle came out of the sombre lodge by its side, swallowing down a mouthful of his dinner in haste. No one, I believe, liked the long suspicious face of the old man, seldom shorn or washed, and furrowed with great, grimy perpendicular wrinkles. Leering fiercely at Mary, not pretending to see me, he wiped his mouth hurriedly with the back of his hand, and growled Drop it. Open it, please, Mr. Crowle, said Mary, renouncing the task. Crowle wiped his mouth as before, looking inauspicious; shuffling to the spot, and muttering to himself, he first satisfied himself that the lock was fast, and then lodged the key in his coatpocket, and still muttering, retraced his steps. We want the gate open, please, said Mary. No answer. Miss Maud wants to go into the town, she insisted. We wants many a thing we cant get, he growled, stepping into his habitation. Please open the gate, I said, advancing. He half turned on his threshold, and made a dumb show of touching his hat, although he had none on. Cant, maam; without an order from master, no one goes out here. You wont allow me and my maid to pass the gate? I said.  Tisnt me, maam, said he; but I cant break orders, and no one goes out without the master allows. And without awaiting further parley, he entered, shutting his hatch behind him. So Mary and I stood, looking very foolish at one another. This was the first restraint I had experienced since Milly and I had been refused a passage through the Windmill paling. The rule, however, on which Crowle insisted I felt confident could not have been intended to apply to me. A word to Uncle Silas would set all right; and in the meantime I proposed to Mary that we should take a walkmy favourite rambleinto the Windmill Wood. I looked toward Dickons farmstead as we passed, thinking that Beauty might have been there. I did see the girl, who was plainly watching us. She stood in the doorway of the cottage, withdrawn into the shade, and, I fancied, anxious to escape observation. When we had passed on a little, I was confirmed in that belief by seeing her run down the footpath which led from the rear of the farmyard in the direction contrary to that in which we were moving. So, I thought, poor Meg falls from me! Mary Quince and I rambled on through the wood, till we reached the windmill itself, and seeing its low arched door open, we entered the chiaroscuro of its circular basement. As we did so I heard a rush and the creak of a plank, and looking up, I saw just a footno moredisappearing through the trapdoor. In the case of one we love or fear intensely, what feats of comparative anatomy will not the mind unconsciously perform? Constructing the whole living animal from the turn of an elbow, the curl of a whisker, a segment of a hand. How instantaneous and unerring is the instinct! Oh, Mary, what have I seen! I whispered, recovering from the fascination that held my gaze fast to the topmost rounds of the ladder, that disappeared in the darkness above the open door in the loft. Come, Marycome away. At the same instant appeared the swarthy, sullen face of Dickon Hawkes in the shadow of the aperture. Having but one serviceable leg, his descent was slow and awkward, and having got his head to the level of the loft he stopped to touch his hat to me, and to hasp and lock the trapdoor. When this was done, the man again touched his hat, and looked steadily and searchingly at me for a second or so, while he got the key into his pocket. These fellahs stores their flour too long ere, maam. Theres a deal o trouble alooking arter it. Ill talk wi Silas, and settle that. By this time he had got upon the worntiled floor, and touching his hat again, he said Im agoin to lock the door, maam! So with a start, and again whispering Come, Marycome away With my arm fast in hers, we made a swift departure. I feel very faint, Mary, said I. Come quickly. Theres nobody following us? No, Miss, dear. That man with the wooden leg is putting a padlock on the door. Come very fast, I said; and when we had got a little farther, I said, Look again, and see whether anyone is following. No one, Miss, answered Mary, plainly surprised. Hes putting the key in his pocket, and standin there alookin after us. Oh, Mary, did not you see it? What, Miss? asked Mary, almost stopping. Come on, Mary. Dont pause. They will observe us, I whispered, hurrying her forward. What did you see, Miss? repeated Mary. Mr. Dudley, I whispered, with a terrified emphasis, not daring to turn my head as I spoke. Lawk, Miss! remonstrated honest Quince, with a protracted intonation of wonder and incredulity, which plainly implied a suspicion that I was dreaming. Yes, Mary. When we went into that dreadful roomthat dark, round placeI saw his foot on the ladder. His foot, Mary I cant be mistaken. I wont be questioned. Youll find Im right. Hes here. He never went in that ship at all. A fraud has been practised on meit is infamousit is terrible. Im frightened out of my life. For heavens sake, look back again, and tell me what you see. Nothing, Miss, answered Mary, in contagious whispers, but that woodenlegged chap, standin hard by the door. And no one with him? No one, Miss. We got without pursuit through the gate in the paling. I drew breath so soon as we had reached the cover of the thicket near the chestnut hollow, and I began to reflect that whoever the owner of the foot might beand I was still instinctively certain that it was no other than Dudleyconcealment was plainly his object. I need not, then, be at all uneasy lest he should pursue us. As we walked slowly and in silence along the grassy footpath, I heard a voice calling my name from behind. Mary Quince had not heard it at all, but I was quite certain. It was repeated twice or thrice, and, looking in considerable doubt and trepidation under the hanging boughs, I saw Beauty, not ten yards away, standing among the underwood. I remember how white the eyes and teeth of the swarthy girl looked, as with hand uplifted toward her ear, she watched us while, as it seemed, listening for more distant sounds. Beauty beckoned eagerly to me, advancing, with looks of great fear and anxiety, two or three short steps toward me. She baint to come, said Beauty, under her breath, so soon as I had nearly reached her, pointing without raising her hand at Mary Quince. Tell her to sit on the ashtree stump down yonder, and call ye as loud as she can if she sees any fellah acomin this way, an rin ye back to me; and she impatiently beckoned me away on her errand. When I returned, having made this dispositions, I perceived how pale the girl was. Are you ill, Meg? I asked. Never ye mind. Well enough. Listen, Miss; I must tell it all in a crack, an if she calls, rin awa to her, and le me to myself, for if fayther or tother un wor to kotch me here, I think theyd kill me amost. Hish! She paused a second, looking askance, in the direction where she fancied Mary Quince was. Then she resumed in a whisper Now, lass, mind ye, yell keep what I say to yourself. Youre not to tell that un nor any other for your life, mind, a word o what Im goin to tell ye. Ill not say a word. Go on. Did ye see Dudley? I think I saw him getting up the ladder. In the mill? Ha! thats him. He never went beyond Todcaster. He stayed in Feltram after. It was my turn to look pale now. My worst conjecture was established. XXI I Conspire Thats a bad un, he isoh, Miss, Miss Maud! Its nout thats good as keeps him an fayther(mind, lass, ye promised you would not tell no one)as keeps them two atalkin and asmokin secretlike together in the mill. An fayther dont know I found him out. They dont let me into the town, but Brice tells me, and he knows its Dudley; and its nout thats good, but summat very bad. An I reckon, Miss, its all about you. Be ye frightened, Miss Maud? I felt on the point of fainting, but I rallied. Not much, Meg. Go on, for Heavens sake. Does Uncle Silas know he is here? Well, Miss, they were with him, Brice told me, from eleven oclock to nigh one o Tuesday night, an went in and come out like thieves, feard yed see em. And how does Brice know anything bad? I asked, with a strange freezing sensation creeping from my heels to my head and down againI am sure deadly pale, but speaking very collectedly. Brice said, Miss, he saw Dudley acryin and lookin awful black, and says he to fayther,  Tisnt in my line nohow, an I cant; and says fayther to he, No one likes they soart o things, but how can ye help it? The old boys behind ye wi his pitchfork, and ye canna stop. An wi that he bethought him o Brice, and says he, What be ye adoin there? Get ye down wi the nags to blacksmith, do ye. An oop gits Dudley, pullin his hat ower his brows, an says he, I wish I was in the Seamew. Im good for nout wi this thing ahangin ower me. An thats all as Brice heard. An hes afeard o fayther and Dudley awful. Dudley could lick him to pot if he crossed him, and he and fayther ud think nout o havin him afore the justices for poachin, and swearin him into gaol. But why does he think its about me? Hish! said Meg, who fancied she heard a sound, but all was quiet. I cant saywere in danger, lass. I dont know whybut he does, an so do I, an, for that matter, so do ye. Meg, Ill leave Bartram. Ye cant. Cant. What do you mean, girl? They wont let ye oot. The gates is all locked. Theyve dogstheyve bloodhounds, Brice says. Ye cant git oot, mind; put that oot o your head. I tell ye what yell do. Write a bit o a note to the lady yonder at Elverston; an though Brice be a wild fellah, and appen not ower good sometimes, he likes me, an Ill make him take it. Fayther will be grindin at mill tomorrow. Coom ye here about one oclockthats if ye see the millsails aturninand me and Brice will meet ye here. Bring that old lass wi ye. Theres an old French un, though, that talks wi Dudley. Mind ye, that un knows nout o the matter. Brice be a kind lad to me, whatsoeer he be wi others, and I think he wont split. Now, lass, I must go. God help ye; God bless ye; an, for the worlds wealth, dont ye let one o them see yeve got ought in your head, not even that un. Before I could say another word, the girl had glided from me, with a wild gesture of silence, and a shake of her head. I cant at all account for the state in which I was. There are resources both of energy and endurance in human nature which we never suspect until the tremendous voice of necessity summons them into play. Petrified with a totally new horror, but with something of the coldness and impassiveness of the transformation, I stood, spoke, and acteda wonder, almost a terror, to myself. I met Madame on my return as if nothing had happened. I heard her ugly gabble, and looked at the fruits of her hours shopping, as I might hear, and see, and talk, and smile, in a dream. But the night was dreadful. When Mary Quince and I were alone, I locked the door. I continued walking up and down the room, with my hands clasped, looking at the inexorable floor, the walls, the ceiling, with a sort of imploring despair. I was afraid to tell my dear old Mary. The least indiscretion would be failure, and failure destruction. I answered her perplexed solicitudes by telling her that I was not very wellthat I was uneasy; but I did not fail to extract from her a promise that she would not hint to mortal, either my suspicions about Dudley, or our rencontre with Meg Hawkes. I remember how, when, after we had got, late at night, into bed, I sat up, shivering with horror, in mine, while honest Marys tranquil breathing told how soundly she slept. I got up, and looked from the window, expecting to see some of those wolfish dogs which they had brought to the place prowling about the courtyard. Sometimes I prayed, and felt tranquillised, and fancied that I was perhaps to have a short interval of sleep. But the serenity was delusive, and all the time my nerves were strung hysterically. Sometimes I felt quite wild, and on the point of screaming. At length that dreadful night passed away. Morning came, and a less morbid, though hardly a less terrible state of mind. Madame paid me an early visit. A thought struck me. I knew that she loved shopping, and I said, quite carelessly Your yesterdays shopping tempts me, Madame, and I must get a few things before we leave for France. Suppose we go into Feltram today, and make my purchases, you and I? She looked from the corner of her cunning eye in my face without answering. I did not blench, and she said Vary good. I would be vary appy, and again she looked oddly at me. Wat hour, my dear Maud? One oclock? I think that weel de very well, eh? I assented, and she grew silent. I wonder whether I did look as careless as I tried. I do not know. Through the whole of this awful period I was, I think, supernatural; and I even now look back with wonder upon my strange selfcommand. Madame, I hoped, had heard nothing of the order which prohibited my exit from the place. She would herself conduct me to Feltram, and secure, by accompanying me, my free egress. Once in Feltram, I would assert my freedom, and manage to reach my dear cousin Knollys. Back to Bartram no power should convey me. My heart swelled and fluttered in the awful suspense of that hour. Oh, BartramHaugh! how came you by those lofty walls? Which of my ancestors had begirt me with an impassable barrier in this horrible strait? Suddenly I remembered my letter to Lady Knollys. If I were disappointed in effecting my escape through Feltram, all would depend upon it. Having locked my door, I wrote as follows Oh, my beloved cousin, as you hope for comfort in your hour of fear, aid me now. Dudley has returned, and is secreted somewhere about the grounds. It is a fraud. They all pretend to me that he is gone away in the Seamew; and he or they had his name published as one of the passengers. Madame de la Rougierre has appeared! She is here, and my uncle insists on making her my close companion. I am at my wits ends. I cannot escapethe walls are a prison; and I believe the eyes of my gaolers are always upon me. Dogs are kept for pursuityes, dogs! and the gates are locked against my escape. God help me! I dont know where to look, or whom to trust. I fear my uncle more than all. I think I could bear this better if I knew what their plans are, even the worst. If ever you loved or pitied me, dear cousin, I conjure you, help me in this extremity. Take me away from this. Oh, darling, for Gods sake take me away! Your distracted and terrified cousin, BartramHaugh. Maud. I sealed this letter jealously, as if the inanimate missive would burst its cerements, and proclaim my desperate appeal through all the chambers and passages of silent Bartram. Old Quince, greatly to cousin Monicas amusement, persisted in furnishing me with those capacious pockets which belonged to a former generation. I was glad of this oldworld eccentricity now, and placed my guilty letter, that, amidst all my hypocrisies, spoke out with terrible frankness, deep in this receptacle, and having hid away the pen and ink, my accomplices, I opened the door, and resumed my careless looks, awaiting Madames return. I was to demand to Mr. Ruthyn the permission to go to Feltram, and I think he will allow. He want to speak to you. With Madame I entered my uncles room. He was reclining on a sofa, his back towards us, and his long white hair, as fine as spun glass, hung over the back of the couch. I was going to ask you, dear Maud, to execute two or three little commissions for me in Feltram. My dreadful letter felt lighter in my pocket, and my heart beat violently. But I have just recollected that this is a marketday, and Feltram will be full of doubtful characters and tipsy persons, so we must wait till tomorrow; and Madame says, very kindly, that she will, as she does not so much mind, make any little purchases today which cannot conveniently wait. Madame assented with a courtesy to Uncle Silas, and a great hollow smile to me. By this time Uncle Silas had raised himself from his reclining posture, and was sitting, gaunt and white, upon the sofa. News of my prodigal today, he said, with a peevish smile, drawing the newspaper towards him. The vessel has been spoken again. How many miles away, do you suppose? He spoke in a plaintive key, looking at me, with hungry eyes, and a horribly smiling countenance. How far do you suppose Dudley is today? and he laid the palm of his hand on the paragraph as he spoke. Guess! For a moment I fancied this was a theatric preparation to give point to the disclosure of Dudleys real whereabouts. It was a very long way. Guess! he repeated. So, stammering a little and pale, I performed the required hypocrisy, after which my uncle read aloud for my benefit the line or two in which were recorded the event, and the latitude and longitude of the vessel at the time, of which Madame made a note in her memory, for the purpose of making her usual tracing in poor Millys Atlas. I cannot say how it really was, but I fancied that Uncle Silas was all the time reading my countenance, with a grim and practised scrutiny; but nothing came of it, and we were dismissed. Madame loved shopping, even for its own sake, but shopping with opportunities of peculation still more. She she had had her luncheon, and was dressed for the excursion, she did precisely what I now most desiredshe proposed to take charge of my commissions and my money; and thus entrusted, left me at liberty to keep tryst at the Chestnut Hollow. So soon as I had seen Madame fairly off, I hurried Mary Quince, and got my things on quickly. We left the house by the side entrance, which I knew my uncles windows did not command. Glad was I to feel a slight breeze, enough to make the millsails revolve; and as we got further into the grounds, and obtained a distant view of the picturesque old windmill, I felt inexpressibly relieved on seeing that it was actually working. We were now in the Chestnut Hollow, and I sent Mary Quince to her old point of observation, which commanded a view of the path in the direction of the Windmill Wood, with her former order to call Ive found it, as loudly as she could, in case she should see anyone approaching. I stopped at the point of our yesterdays meeting. I peered under the branches, and my heart beat fast as I saw Meg Hawkes awaiting me. XXII The Letter Come away, lass, whispered Beauty, very pale; hes hereTom Brice. And she led the way, shoving aside the leafless underwood, and we reached Tom. The slender youth, groom or poacherhe might answer for eitherwith his short coat and gaitered legs, was sitting on a low horizontal bough, with his shoulder against the trunk. Dont ye mind; sit ye still, lad, said Meg, observing that he was preparing to rise, and had entangled his hat in the boughs. Sit ye still, and hark to the lady. Hell take it, Miss Maud, if he can; wi na ye, lad? Ees, Ill take it, he replied, holding out his hand. Tom Brice, you wont deceive me? Noa, sure, said Tom and Meg nearly in the same breath. You are an honest English lad, Tomyou would not betray me? I was speaking imploringly. Noa, sure, repeated Tom. There was something a little unsatisfactory in the countenance of this lighthaired youth, with the sharpish upturned nose. Throughout our interview he said next to nothing, and smiled lazily to himself, like a man listening to a childs solemn nonsense, and leading it on, with an amused irony, from one wise sally to another. Thus it seemed to me that this young clown, without in the least intending to be offensive, was listening to me with a profound and lazy mockery. I could not choose, however; and, such as he was, I must employ him or none. Now, Tom Brice, a great deal depends on this. Thats true for her, Tom Brice, said Meg, who now and then confirmed my asseverations. Ill give you a pound now, Tom, and I placed the coin and the letter together in his hand.