CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XII.A Dedication—and a Desecration.A few weeks later the Mayor stood at his door, one bright morning in January, holding a parley with Alderman Johnstone."I dessay, now," said the Mayor, "that you aint been in the way of seein' the Squire lately?""I see him last when he signed my lease," answered the Alderman, with a grim smile, "and that's a month come to-morrow.""I had a conversation with him yesterday, and after touchin' on the matter of that last pavin' contract,—he'd heard o' your son-in-law gettin' it, Johnstone,—he got talkin' about Mr. Bannister.""Aye? did he?""And about his noo book. 'It's a blessin',' he says, 'to see a young man of such promise shakin' himself free of that pestilential trash.' He meant your opinions by that, Johnstone.""Supposing 'e did, what then? I don't label my opinions to please the customers like as some do their physic."The Mayor was not in a fighting mood; hismind was busy with speculations, and he ignored the challenge."Queer start Mr. Bannister showin' up at the church bazaar, eh? Spent a heap o' money, too. I met Mr. Hume, and asked him about it, and he said——""It wan't no business o' yours, didn't he?""Mr. Hume—he's a gentleman, Johnstone," remarked the Mayor in grave rebuke."Well, what did 'e say?""That where the carcass was, the eagles 'ud be gathered together."Mr. Johnstone smiled a smile of pity for the Mayor's density."Well, what do you suppose he meant?" asked the Mayor in reply to the smile."Where the gells is, the lads is," said the Alderman, with a wink, as he passed on his way.This most natural, reasonable, and charitable explanation of Dale's conduct in identifying himself with the Vicar's pastoral labors had, oddly enough, suggested itself to no one else, unless it might be to Captain Gerard Ripley. His presence had been hailed on the one side, and anathematized on the other, as an outward sign of an inward conversion, and his lavish expenditure had been set down to a repentant spirit rather than a desire to gratify any particular stall-holder. The Vicar had just read "Amor Patriæ," and he remarked to everyone he met that the transition from an appreciation of the national greatness to an adhesion to the national church was but a short step.Unhappily, in a moment of absence, he chanced to say so to Colonel Smith, who was at the bazaar for the purpose of demonstrating his indifferent impartiality toward all religious sects."You might as well say," answered the Colonel in scorn, "that because a man stands by the regiment he's bound to be thick with the chaplain."Captain Ripley alone, with the penetration born of jealousy, attributed Dale's presence simply and solely to the same motive as had produced his own, to wit, a desire to be where Miss Delane was. The Captain was a little sore; he had known Janet from childhood, they had exchanged many children's vows, and when he was sixteen and she thirteen she had accepted a Twelfth Night cake ring from him. The flirtation had always proceeded in its gentle, ambling course, and the Captain had returned on long leave with the idea that it was time to put the natural termination in the way of being reached. Janet disappointed him; she ridiculed his tender references to bygone days, characterizing what had passed as boy-and-girl nonsense, and perseveringly kept their intercourse on a dull level of friendliness. On the other hand, whatever might be the nature of her acquaintance with Dale Bannister, it was at least clear that it was marked by no such uneventful monotony. Sometimes she would hardly speak to him; at others she cared to speak to no one else. The Captain would have profited ill by the opportunities a residence ingarrison towns offers if he had not recognized that these changeful relations were fraught with peril to his hopes.At the bazaar, for example, he was so much moved by a long conversation between Janet and Dale, which took place over the handing of a cup of tea, that he unburdened himself to his friend Sir Harry Fulmer. Now Sir Harry was in a bad temper; he had his object in attending as the Captain had, and Colonel Smith had just told him that Tora was not coming."Who is the fellow?" demanded Captain Ripley."Writes poetry.""I never heard of him.""I dare say not. It's not much in your line, is it?""Well, he's a queer-looking beggar.""Think so? Now I call him a good-looking chap.""Why the deuce doesn't he get his hair cut?""Don't know. Perhaps Janet Delane likes it long.""I hate that sort of fellow, Harry.""He's not a bad chap.""Does the Squire like him?""I don't know, and I don't care. How beastly hot this room is! I shall go.""I say, Harry, I've only just come back, you know. Is there anything on?""Well, if you want to take a hand, I should cut in pretty sharp," said Sir Harry, elbowing his way to the door.Captain Ripley, impatiently refusing to buy a negro doll which the Vicar's daughter pressed on his favorable notice, leaned against the wall and grimly regarded Dale Bannister.The latter was just saying:"Have you looked at the verses at all, Miss Delane?""I have read every one, over and over. They are splendid.""Oh, I'm new to that sort of thing.""Yes, but it's so—such a joy to me to see you doing what is really worthy of you.""If there is any credit, it's yours.""Now why do you say that? It isn't true, and it just spoils it.""Spoils it?" said Dale, who thought girls liked compliments."Yes. If you had really only done it to please—an individual, it would be worth nothing. You couldn't help doing it. I knew you couldn't.""At any rate, you must accept the responsibility of having put it into my head.""Not even that, Mr. Bannister.""Oh, but that's the meaning of the dedication."No one is quite free from guile. Janet answered:"The dedication is rather mysterious, Mr. Bannister.""I meant it to be so to all the world.""Oh, did you?""Except you."Janet blushed and smiled."I wonder," pursued Dale, "if I shall ever be allowed to name that lady?""That will depend on whether she wishes it.""Of course. Do you think she will—hereafter?""Won't you have another cup? It's only half a crown.""Yes, two more, please. Do you think she will?""How thirsty you seem to be!""Will she?""Now, Mr. Bannister, I mustn't neglect all my customers. See, Mrs. Gilkison is selling nothing.""But will she?""Certainly not—unless you go and buy something from Mrs. Gilkison."Now whether Janet were really concerned for Mrs. Gilkison, or whether she had caught sight of Captain Ripley's lowering countenance, or whether she merely desired to avoid pledging herself to Dale, it is immaterial, and also impossible to say. Dale felt himself dismissed, with the consolation of perceiving that his dedication had not been unfavorably received in the quarter to which it was addressed.Accordingly it was in a cheerful frame of mind that he set out for home, scattering most of his purchases among the children before he went.He was in a kindly mood, and when he saw James Roberts coming up High Street, he did not, as he had once or twice lately, cross theroad to avoid meeting him, but held on his path, determined to offer a friendly greeting.When the Doctor came up, he stopped and took from his breast pocket the little green volume which contained Dale's latest poems. He held it up before the author's eyes."Ah, Roberts, I see you have the new work. How do you like it?"He tried to speak easily, but the Doctor did not appear to be in a conciliatory temper."Are these things really yours?" he asked."Of course they are.""This wretched jingo doggerel yours?"Dale felt this unjust. The verses might not express the Doctor's views, but an immortal poet's works are not lightly to be called doggerel."What a narrow-minded beggar you are!" he exclaimed.The Doctor answered nothing. Buttoning up his threadbare coat, so as to leave his arms free, with an effort he tore the leaves from their cover, rent them across, flung them on the road, and trod them into the mud. Then, without a word, he passed on his way, while Dale stood and stared at the dishonored wreck."He's mad—stark mad!" he declared at last. "How ill the poor chap looks, too!"The Doctor hurried down the street, with a strange malicious smile on his face. Every now and then his hand sought his breast pocket again, and hugged a check for a hundred pounds which lay there. It was his last money in the world; when that was gone, his bankingaccount was exhausted, and nothing remained but his wife's pittance—and nothing more was coming. Yet he had devoted that sum to a purpose, and now he stopped at Alderman Johnstone's door, and asked for the master of the house, still grimly smiling at the thought of what he was preparing for Dale Bannister, if only Johnstone would help him. Johnstone had a lease now, he was independent—if only he would help him!The Alderman listened to the plan."It's a new trade for me," said he, with a grin."I find the stock—I have it ready. And——" He held up the check.The Alderman's eyes glistened."They can't touch me," he said, "and I should like to 'ave a shy at the Squire. 'Ere's my 'and upon it."A day or two afterward Dale heard that the sale of "Sluggards" was increasing by leaps and bounds. A single house had taken five hundred copies. "Amor Patriæ" had evidently given a fresh impetus to the earlier work, in spite of the remarkable difference of tone which existed between them."It shows," said Dale complacently to Philip Hume, "that most people are not such intolerant idiots as that fellow Roberts."But what it really did show will appear in due season. Dale did not know; nor did Philip, for he said, with a fine sneer:"It shows that immorality doesn't matter if it's combined with sound political principles, old man."

A Dedication—and a Desecration.

A few weeks later the Mayor stood at his door, one bright morning in January, holding a parley with Alderman Johnstone.

"I dessay, now," said the Mayor, "that you aint been in the way of seein' the Squire lately?"

"I see him last when he signed my lease," answered the Alderman, with a grim smile, "and that's a month come to-morrow."

"I had a conversation with him yesterday, and after touchin' on the matter of that last pavin' contract,—he'd heard o' your son-in-law gettin' it, Johnstone,—he got talkin' about Mr. Bannister."

"Aye? did he?"

"And about his noo book. 'It's a blessin',' he says, 'to see a young man of such promise shakin' himself free of that pestilential trash.' He meant your opinions by that, Johnstone."

"Supposing 'e did, what then? I don't label my opinions to please the customers like as some do their physic."

The Mayor was not in a fighting mood; hismind was busy with speculations, and he ignored the challenge.

"Queer start Mr. Bannister showin' up at the church bazaar, eh? Spent a heap o' money, too. I met Mr. Hume, and asked him about it, and he said——"

"It wan't no business o' yours, didn't he?"

"Mr. Hume—he's a gentleman, Johnstone," remarked the Mayor in grave rebuke.

"Well, what did 'e say?"

"That where the carcass was, the eagles 'ud be gathered together."

Mr. Johnstone smiled a smile of pity for the Mayor's density.

"Well, what do you suppose he meant?" asked the Mayor in reply to the smile.

"Where the gells is, the lads is," said the Alderman, with a wink, as he passed on his way.

This most natural, reasonable, and charitable explanation of Dale's conduct in identifying himself with the Vicar's pastoral labors had, oddly enough, suggested itself to no one else, unless it might be to Captain Gerard Ripley. His presence had been hailed on the one side, and anathematized on the other, as an outward sign of an inward conversion, and his lavish expenditure had been set down to a repentant spirit rather than a desire to gratify any particular stall-holder. The Vicar had just read "Amor Patriæ," and he remarked to everyone he met that the transition from an appreciation of the national greatness to an adhesion to the national church was but a short step.

Unhappily, in a moment of absence, he chanced to say so to Colonel Smith, who was at the bazaar for the purpose of demonstrating his indifferent impartiality toward all religious sects.

"You might as well say," answered the Colonel in scorn, "that because a man stands by the regiment he's bound to be thick with the chaplain."

Captain Ripley alone, with the penetration born of jealousy, attributed Dale's presence simply and solely to the same motive as had produced his own, to wit, a desire to be where Miss Delane was. The Captain was a little sore; he had known Janet from childhood, they had exchanged many children's vows, and when he was sixteen and she thirteen she had accepted a Twelfth Night cake ring from him. The flirtation had always proceeded in its gentle, ambling course, and the Captain had returned on long leave with the idea that it was time to put the natural termination in the way of being reached. Janet disappointed him; she ridiculed his tender references to bygone days, characterizing what had passed as boy-and-girl nonsense, and perseveringly kept their intercourse on a dull level of friendliness. On the other hand, whatever might be the nature of her acquaintance with Dale Bannister, it was at least clear that it was marked by no such uneventful monotony. Sometimes she would hardly speak to him; at others she cared to speak to no one else. The Captain would have profited ill by the opportunities a residence ingarrison towns offers if he had not recognized that these changeful relations were fraught with peril to his hopes.

At the bazaar, for example, he was so much moved by a long conversation between Janet and Dale, which took place over the handing of a cup of tea, that he unburdened himself to his friend Sir Harry Fulmer. Now Sir Harry was in a bad temper; he had his object in attending as the Captain had, and Colonel Smith had just told him that Tora was not coming.

"Who is the fellow?" demanded Captain Ripley.

"Writes poetry."

"I never heard of him."

"I dare say not. It's not much in your line, is it?"

"Well, he's a queer-looking beggar."

"Think so? Now I call him a good-looking chap."

"Why the deuce doesn't he get his hair cut?"

"Don't know. Perhaps Janet Delane likes it long."

"I hate that sort of fellow, Harry."

"He's not a bad chap."

"Does the Squire like him?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. How beastly hot this room is! I shall go."

"I say, Harry, I've only just come back, you know. Is there anything on?"

"Well, if you want to take a hand, I should cut in pretty sharp," said Sir Harry, elbowing his way to the door.

Captain Ripley, impatiently refusing to buy a negro doll which the Vicar's daughter pressed on his favorable notice, leaned against the wall and grimly regarded Dale Bannister.

The latter was just saying:

"Have you looked at the verses at all, Miss Delane?"

"I have read every one, over and over. They are splendid."

"Oh, I'm new to that sort of thing."

"Yes, but it's so—such a joy to me to see you doing what is really worthy of you."

"If there is any credit, it's yours."

"Now why do you say that? It isn't true, and it just spoils it."

"Spoils it?" said Dale, who thought girls liked compliments.

"Yes. If you had really only done it to please—an individual, it would be worth nothing. You couldn't help doing it. I knew you couldn't."

"At any rate, you must accept the responsibility of having put it into my head."

"Not even that, Mr. Bannister."

"Oh, but that's the meaning of the dedication."

No one is quite free from guile. Janet answered:

"The dedication is rather mysterious, Mr. Bannister."

"I meant it to be so to all the world."

"Oh, did you?"

"Except you."

Janet blushed and smiled.

"I wonder," pursued Dale, "if I shall ever be allowed to name that lady?"

"That will depend on whether she wishes it."

"Of course. Do you think she will—hereafter?"

"Won't you have another cup? It's only half a crown."

"Yes, two more, please. Do you think she will?"

"How thirsty you seem to be!"

"Will she?"

"Now, Mr. Bannister, I mustn't neglect all my customers. See, Mrs. Gilkison is selling nothing."

"But will she?"

"Certainly not—unless you go and buy something from Mrs. Gilkison."

Now whether Janet were really concerned for Mrs. Gilkison, or whether she had caught sight of Captain Ripley's lowering countenance, or whether she merely desired to avoid pledging herself to Dale, it is immaterial, and also impossible to say. Dale felt himself dismissed, with the consolation of perceiving that his dedication had not been unfavorably received in the quarter to which it was addressed.

Accordingly it was in a cheerful frame of mind that he set out for home, scattering most of his purchases among the children before he went.

He was in a kindly mood, and when he saw James Roberts coming up High Street, he did not, as he had once or twice lately, cross theroad to avoid meeting him, but held on his path, determined to offer a friendly greeting.

When the Doctor came up, he stopped and took from his breast pocket the little green volume which contained Dale's latest poems. He held it up before the author's eyes.

"Ah, Roberts, I see you have the new work. How do you like it?"

He tried to speak easily, but the Doctor did not appear to be in a conciliatory temper.

"Are these things really yours?" he asked.

"Of course they are."

"This wretched jingo doggerel yours?"

Dale felt this unjust. The verses might not express the Doctor's views, but an immortal poet's works are not lightly to be called doggerel.

"What a narrow-minded beggar you are!" he exclaimed.

The Doctor answered nothing. Buttoning up his threadbare coat, so as to leave his arms free, with an effort he tore the leaves from their cover, rent them across, flung them on the road, and trod them into the mud. Then, without a word, he passed on his way, while Dale stood and stared at the dishonored wreck.

"He's mad—stark mad!" he declared at last. "How ill the poor chap looks, too!"

The Doctor hurried down the street, with a strange malicious smile on his face. Every now and then his hand sought his breast pocket again, and hugged a check for a hundred pounds which lay there. It was his last money in the world; when that was gone, his bankingaccount was exhausted, and nothing remained but his wife's pittance—and nothing more was coming. Yet he had devoted that sum to a purpose, and now he stopped at Alderman Johnstone's door, and asked for the master of the house, still grimly smiling at the thought of what he was preparing for Dale Bannister, if only Johnstone would help him. Johnstone had a lease now, he was independent—if only he would help him!

The Alderman listened to the plan.

"It's a new trade for me," said he, with a grin.

"I find the stock—I have it ready. And——" He held up the check.

The Alderman's eyes glistened.

"They can't touch me," he said, "and I should like to 'ave a shy at the Squire. 'Ere's my 'and upon it."

A day or two afterward Dale heard that the sale of "Sluggards" was increasing by leaps and bounds. A single house had taken five hundred copies. "Amor Patriæ" had evidently given a fresh impetus to the earlier work, in spite of the remarkable difference of tone which existed between them.

"It shows," said Dale complacently to Philip Hume, "that most people are not such intolerant idiots as that fellow Roberts."

But what it really did show will appear in due season. Dale did not know; nor did Philip, for he said, with a fine sneer:

"It shows that immorality doesn't matter if it's combined with sound political principles, old man."

CHAPTER XIII.The Responsibilities of Genius.Dr. Spink sat in his comfortable dining room with his after-dinner glass of wine before him. The snow was falling and the rain beating against the windows, but the Doctor had finished his work, and feared only that some sudden call would compel him to face the fury of the weather again. A few months back he would have greeted any summons, however unreasonable the hour, and thought a new patient well bought at the price of a spoiled evening. But of late the world had smiled upon him, the hill which had looked so steep was proving easy to climb, and he was already considering whether he should not take a partner, to relieve him of the more irksome parts of his duty. He pulled his neatly trimmed whisker and caressed his smooth-shaven chin, as he reflected how the folly of that mad fellow, Roberts, had turned to his advantage. No man could say that he had deviated an inch from professional propriety, or pressed his advantage the least unfairly. He had merely persevered on the lines he laid down for himself on his first arrival. The success, whichastonished even himself, had come to him, partly no doubt, because merit must make its way, but mainly because his rival had willfully flung away his chances, preferring—and to Dr. Spink it seemed a preference almost insane—to speak his mind, whatever it might be, rather than, like a wise man, hold his tongue and fill his pockets.So Roberts had willed, and hence the Vicarage, the Grange, and many other houses now knew his footstep no more, and Spink filled his place. As he pondered on this, Dr. Spink spared a pang of pity for his beaten competitor, wondering what in the world the man meant to live upon.The door bell rang. He heard it with a sigh—the half-pleased, half-weary, resigned sigh that a man utters when fortune gives him no rest in getting gain. A moment later he was on his way to the surgery to see a lady who would not send in her name or business.He recognized Ethel Roberts with surprise, when she raised her veil. They had known one another to bow to, but he could not imagine what brought her to his surgery."Mrs. Roberts! Is there anything——""Oh, Dr. Spink, you must forgive me for coming. I am in great trouble, and I thought you might help me.""Pray sit down. Is anyone ill—your little boy?""No, he's not ill. It's—it's about my husband.""I hope Mr. Roberts is not ill?""I don't know," she said nervously. "That's what I want to ask you. Have you seen him lately?""No, not very; I passed him in the street the other day.""He's gone to London, suddenly, I don't know why. Oh, he's been so strange lately!""I thought he looked worried. Tell me about it," said Dr. Spink, moved now with genuine pity for the pale haggard face before him."Ever since—but you mustn't tell I came to you—or spoke to anybody, I mean—will you?"He reassured her, and she continued:"Ever since his quarrel with Mr. Bannister—you know about it?—there is something the matter with him. He is moody, and absent-minded, and—and hasty, and he settles to nothing. And now he is gone off like this.""Come, Mrs. Roberts, you must compose yourself. I suppose he has let these politics worry him.""He seems to care nothing for—for his home or the baby, you know; he does nothing but read, or wander up and down the room.""It sounds as if he wanted a rest and a change. You say he has gone away?""Yes; but on business, I think.""I'm afraid I can't tell you much, unless he calls me in and lets me have a look at him.""He'll never do that!" she exclaimed, before she could stop herself.Dr. Spink took no notice of her outburst."If he comes back no better, send me a line, Mrs. Roberts, and we'll see. And mind you let me know if you or the baby want any advice.""You're very kind, Dr. Spink. I—I'm sorry James is so——""Oh, that's a symptom. If he gets right, he won't be like that. Your jacket's too thin for such a night. Let me send you home in the brougham."Ethel refused the offer, and started on her return, leaving Dr. Spink shaking a thoughtful head in the surgery doorway."It really looks," he said, "as if he was a bit queer. But what can I do? Poor little woman!"And, not being able to do anything, he went back and finished his glass of port. Then, for his dinner had been postponed till late by business, and it was half-past ten, he went to bed.Ethel beat her way down the High Street against the wind and snow, shutting her eyes in face of the blinding shower, and pushing on with all her speed to rejoin her baby, whom she had left alone. When, wet and weary, she reached her door, to her surprise she saw a man waiting there. For a moment she joyously thought it was her husband, but as the man came forward to meet her, she recognized Philip Hume."Out on such a night, Mrs. Roberts!"She murmured an excuse, and he went on:"Is the Doctor in? I came to look him up.""No, he's away in London, Mr. Hume.""In London? What for?""I don't know.""May I come in for a moment?" asked Philip, who had been looking at her closely."If you like," she answered in some surprise. "I'm afraid there's no fire."Philip had followed her in and seen the grate in the sitting room with no fire lighted."No fire?" he exclaimed."There is one in my room where baby is," she explained."There ought to be one here too," said he. "You're looking ill.""Oh, I'm not ill, Mr. Hume—I'm not indeed."Philip had come on an errand. There are uses even in gossips, and he had had a talk with his friend the Mayor that day."Where are the coals?" he asked."There are some in the scuttle," she said.He looked and found a few small pieces. The fire was laid with a few more. Philip lit them and threw on all the rest. Then he went to the door, and shouted:"Wilson!"The small shrewd-faced man who waited on Dale Bannister appeared. He was pushing a wheelbarrow before him."Wheel it into the passage," said Philip; "and then go. And, mind, not a word!"Wilson looked insulted."I don't talk, sir," said he.Philip returned to the room."Mrs. Roberts," he said, "listen to me. I ama friend of your husband's. Will you let me help you?""Indeed, I need no help.""I know you are frozen," he went on; "and—where is the servant?""She has left. I—I haven't got another yet," she faltered."In the passage," Philip went on, "there is a wheelbarrow. It holds coals, food, and drink. It's for you."She started up."I can't—indeed I can't! Jim wouldn't like it.""Jim be hanged! I'll settle with him. You're to take them. Do you hear?"She did not answer. He walked up to her and put a little canvas bag in her hands."There's money. No, take it. I shall keep an account.""I really don't need it.""You do—you know you do. How much money has he left you?"She laid her hand on his arm."He's not himself, he isn't indeed, Mr. Hume, or he wouldn't——""No, of course he isn't. So I do what he would, if he were himself. You were going to starve.""He will be angry.""Then don't tell him. He'll never notice. Now, will he?""He notices nothing now," she said."And you'll take them? Come, think of what's-his-name—the baby, you know.""You're too kind to me.""Nonsense! Of course we look after you, Mrs. Roberts.""Mr. Hume, do you think—what do you think is the matter with Jim?""Oh, I think he's an old fool, Mrs. Roberts, and you may tell him so from me. No, no, he'll be all right in a week or two. Meanwhile, we're going to make you and Tommy—oh, Johnny, is it?—comfortable."He did not leave her till she had consented to accept all he offered; then he went back to Littlehill."I think, Dale," he said, "Roberts must be mad. He left his wife and child starving.""Did she take the things?""Yes; I made her.""That's all right. What a strange beggar he is! He can't be quite right in his head.""Fancy that poor little woman left like that!""Horrible!" said Dale, with a shudder. "At any rate we can prevent that. I'm so glad you thought of it.""Old Hedger told me they had ordered nothing for three days.""How the deuce does Hedger know everything?""It's lucky he knew this, isn't it?""By Jove, it is! Because, you know, Phil, I feel a kind of responsibility.""Nonsense, Dale! Not really?""Oh, you needn't laugh. Of course I couldn't know the man was a sort of lunatic. One doesn't write for lunatics.""Perhaps they ought to be considered, being so numerous.""However, it's all right now. Awfully obliged to you, Phil.""I wonder if he'll come back.""Roberts? Why shouldn't he?""I don't know, but he's quite capable of just cutting the whole concern.""I think he's capable of anything.""Except appreciating 'Amor Patriæ,' eh?"Dale, having got the Roberts family off his mind, drifted to another topic."I say, Phil, old chap, will you stop playing the fool for once, and give me your advice?""What about?" asked Philip, throwing himself into an armchair."What," said Dale gravely, filling his pipe, "do you think about getting married?""Are you thinking of it?""Discuss marriage in the abstract.""It is a position of greater responsibility and less freedom.""Yes, I know that. But a lot depends on the girl, doesn't it?""I expect so.""I say, Phil, what do you think of Ripley?""He seemed a decent enough fellow.""Do you think—I mean, do you call him an attractive fellow?""Oh, uncommonly!""Really?""Well, why not?"Dale fidgeted in his chair, and relit the pipe, which had gone out. He was much too perturbedto give to the filling of it the attention that operation needs."I suppose he'll be rich, and a swell, and all that," he went on."No doubt—but not a Victorian poet.""Don't be a fool!""I meant it kindly. Some girls like poets.""They were awfully kind about 'Amor Patriæ' at the Grange to-night.""Oh, you've been there?""You know I have. Ripley was there. I don't think I care much about him, Phil.""Don't you? Does he like you?"Dale laughed as he rose to go to bed."Not much, I think," said he.Philip also, being left companionless, got up and knocked out his pipe. Then he stood looking into the dying embers for a minute or two, and thinking, as he warmed his hands with the last of the heat. "Poor little Nellie!" he said. After a pause, he said it again; and once again after that. But then, as saying it was no use at all, he sighed and went to bed.

The Responsibilities of Genius.

Dr. Spink sat in his comfortable dining room with his after-dinner glass of wine before him. The snow was falling and the rain beating against the windows, but the Doctor had finished his work, and feared only that some sudden call would compel him to face the fury of the weather again. A few months back he would have greeted any summons, however unreasonable the hour, and thought a new patient well bought at the price of a spoiled evening. But of late the world had smiled upon him, the hill which had looked so steep was proving easy to climb, and he was already considering whether he should not take a partner, to relieve him of the more irksome parts of his duty. He pulled his neatly trimmed whisker and caressed his smooth-shaven chin, as he reflected how the folly of that mad fellow, Roberts, had turned to his advantage. No man could say that he had deviated an inch from professional propriety, or pressed his advantage the least unfairly. He had merely persevered on the lines he laid down for himself on his first arrival. The success, whichastonished even himself, had come to him, partly no doubt, because merit must make its way, but mainly because his rival had willfully flung away his chances, preferring—and to Dr. Spink it seemed a preference almost insane—to speak his mind, whatever it might be, rather than, like a wise man, hold his tongue and fill his pockets.

So Roberts had willed, and hence the Vicarage, the Grange, and many other houses now knew his footstep no more, and Spink filled his place. As he pondered on this, Dr. Spink spared a pang of pity for his beaten competitor, wondering what in the world the man meant to live upon.

The door bell rang. He heard it with a sigh—the half-pleased, half-weary, resigned sigh that a man utters when fortune gives him no rest in getting gain. A moment later he was on his way to the surgery to see a lady who would not send in her name or business.

He recognized Ethel Roberts with surprise, when she raised her veil. They had known one another to bow to, but he could not imagine what brought her to his surgery.

"Mrs. Roberts! Is there anything——"

"Oh, Dr. Spink, you must forgive me for coming. I am in great trouble, and I thought you might help me."

"Pray sit down. Is anyone ill—your little boy?"

"No, he's not ill. It's—it's about my husband."

"I hope Mr. Roberts is not ill?"

"I don't know," she said nervously. "That's what I want to ask you. Have you seen him lately?"

"No, not very; I passed him in the street the other day."

"He's gone to London, suddenly, I don't know why. Oh, he's been so strange lately!"

"I thought he looked worried. Tell me about it," said Dr. Spink, moved now with genuine pity for the pale haggard face before him.

"Ever since—but you mustn't tell I came to you—or spoke to anybody, I mean—will you?"

He reassured her, and she continued:

"Ever since his quarrel with Mr. Bannister—you know about it?—there is something the matter with him. He is moody, and absent-minded, and—and hasty, and he settles to nothing. And now he is gone off like this."

"Come, Mrs. Roberts, you must compose yourself. I suppose he has let these politics worry him."

"He seems to care nothing for—for his home or the baby, you know; he does nothing but read, or wander up and down the room."

"It sounds as if he wanted a rest and a change. You say he has gone away?"

"Yes; but on business, I think."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much, unless he calls me in and lets me have a look at him."

"He'll never do that!" she exclaimed, before she could stop herself.

Dr. Spink took no notice of her outburst.

"If he comes back no better, send me a line, Mrs. Roberts, and we'll see. And mind you let me know if you or the baby want any advice."

"You're very kind, Dr. Spink. I—I'm sorry James is so——"

"Oh, that's a symptom. If he gets right, he won't be like that. Your jacket's too thin for such a night. Let me send you home in the brougham."

Ethel refused the offer, and started on her return, leaving Dr. Spink shaking a thoughtful head in the surgery doorway.

"It really looks," he said, "as if he was a bit queer. But what can I do? Poor little woman!"

And, not being able to do anything, he went back and finished his glass of port. Then, for his dinner had been postponed till late by business, and it was half-past ten, he went to bed.

Ethel beat her way down the High Street against the wind and snow, shutting her eyes in face of the blinding shower, and pushing on with all her speed to rejoin her baby, whom she had left alone. When, wet and weary, she reached her door, to her surprise she saw a man waiting there. For a moment she joyously thought it was her husband, but as the man came forward to meet her, she recognized Philip Hume.

"Out on such a night, Mrs. Roberts!"

She murmured an excuse, and he went on:

"Is the Doctor in? I came to look him up."

"No, he's away in London, Mr. Hume."

"In London? What for?"

"I don't know."

"May I come in for a moment?" asked Philip, who had been looking at her closely.

"If you like," she answered in some surprise. "I'm afraid there's no fire."

Philip had followed her in and seen the grate in the sitting room with no fire lighted.

"No fire?" he exclaimed.

"There is one in my room where baby is," she explained.

"There ought to be one here too," said he. "You're looking ill."

"Oh, I'm not ill, Mr. Hume—I'm not indeed."

Philip had come on an errand. There are uses even in gossips, and he had had a talk with his friend the Mayor that day.

"Where are the coals?" he asked.

"There are some in the scuttle," she said.

He looked and found a few small pieces. The fire was laid with a few more. Philip lit them and threw on all the rest. Then he went to the door, and shouted:

"Wilson!"

The small shrewd-faced man who waited on Dale Bannister appeared. He was pushing a wheelbarrow before him.

"Wheel it into the passage," said Philip; "and then go. And, mind, not a word!"

Wilson looked insulted.

"I don't talk, sir," said he.

Philip returned to the room.

"Mrs. Roberts," he said, "listen to me. I ama friend of your husband's. Will you let me help you?"

"Indeed, I need no help."

"I know you are frozen," he went on; "and—where is the servant?"

"She has left. I—I haven't got another yet," she faltered.

"In the passage," Philip went on, "there is a wheelbarrow. It holds coals, food, and drink. It's for you."

She started up.

"I can't—indeed I can't! Jim wouldn't like it."

"Jim be hanged! I'll settle with him. You're to take them. Do you hear?"

She did not answer. He walked up to her and put a little canvas bag in her hands.

"There's money. No, take it. I shall keep an account."

"I really don't need it."

"You do—you know you do. How much money has he left you?"

She laid her hand on his arm.

"He's not himself, he isn't indeed, Mr. Hume, or he wouldn't——"

"No, of course he isn't. So I do what he would, if he were himself. You were going to starve."

"He will be angry."

"Then don't tell him. He'll never notice. Now, will he?"

"He notices nothing now," she said.

"And you'll take them? Come, think of what's-his-name—the baby, you know."

"You're too kind to me."

"Nonsense! Of course we look after you, Mrs. Roberts."

"Mr. Hume, do you think—what do you think is the matter with Jim?"

"Oh, I think he's an old fool, Mrs. Roberts, and you may tell him so from me. No, no, he'll be all right in a week or two. Meanwhile, we're going to make you and Tommy—oh, Johnny, is it?—comfortable."

He did not leave her till she had consented to accept all he offered; then he went back to Littlehill.

"I think, Dale," he said, "Roberts must be mad. He left his wife and child starving."

"Did she take the things?"

"Yes; I made her."

"That's all right. What a strange beggar he is! He can't be quite right in his head."

"Fancy that poor little woman left like that!"

"Horrible!" said Dale, with a shudder. "At any rate we can prevent that. I'm so glad you thought of it."

"Old Hedger told me they had ordered nothing for three days."

"How the deuce does Hedger know everything?"

"It's lucky he knew this, isn't it?"

"By Jove, it is! Because, you know, Phil, I feel a kind of responsibility."

"Nonsense, Dale! Not really?"

"Oh, you needn't laugh. Of course I couldn't know the man was a sort of lunatic. One doesn't write for lunatics."

"Perhaps they ought to be considered, being so numerous."

"However, it's all right now. Awfully obliged to you, Phil."

"I wonder if he'll come back."

"Roberts? Why shouldn't he?"

"I don't know, but he's quite capable of just cutting the whole concern."

"I think he's capable of anything."

"Except appreciating 'Amor Patriæ,' eh?"

Dale, having got the Roberts family off his mind, drifted to another topic.

"I say, Phil, old chap, will you stop playing the fool for once, and give me your advice?"

"What about?" asked Philip, throwing himself into an armchair.

"What," said Dale gravely, filling his pipe, "do you think about getting married?"

"Are you thinking of it?"

"Discuss marriage in the abstract."

"It is a position of greater responsibility and less freedom."

"Yes, I know that. But a lot depends on the girl, doesn't it?"

"I expect so."

"I say, Phil, what do you think of Ripley?"

"He seemed a decent enough fellow."

"Do you think—I mean, do you call him an attractive fellow?"

"Oh, uncommonly!"

"Really?"

"Well, why not?"

Dale fidgeted in his chair, and relit the pipe, which had gone out. He was much too perturbedto give to the filling of it the attention that operation needs.

"I suppose he'll be rich, and a swell, and all that," he went on.

"No doubt—but not a Victorian poet."

"Don't be a fool!"

"I meant it kindly. Some girls like poets."

"They were awfully kind about 'Amor Patriæ' at the Grange to-night."

"Oh, you've been there?"

"You know I have. Ripley was there. I don't think I care much about him, Phil."

"Don't you? Does he like you?"

Dale laughed as he rose to go to bed.

"Not much, I think," said he.

Philip also, being left companionless, got up and knocked out his pipe. Then he stood looking into the dying embers for a minute or two, and thinking, as he warmed his hands with the last of the heat. "Poor little Nellie!" he said. After a pause, he said it again; and once again after that. But then, as saying it was no use at all, he sighed and went to bed.

CHAPTER XIV.Mr. Delane Likes the Idea.On a bright morning, when February was in one of its brief moods of kindliness, Janet Delane was in the garden, and flitting from it into the hothouses in search of flowers. It was half-past eleven, and Captain Ripley had kept her gossiping long after breakfast; that was the worst of idle men staying in a house. So she hastened to and fro in a great parade of business-like activity, and, as she went, she would sing blithely and stop and smile to herself, and break into singing again, and call merrily to her dog, a rotund, slate-colored bundle of hair that waddled after her, and answered, if he were given time to get within earshot, to the name of Mop. Mop was more sedate than his mistress: she only pretended to be on business bent, while he had been dragged out to take a serious constitutional on account of his growing corpulence, and it made him sulky to be called here and beckoned there, and told there were rats, and cats, and what not—whereas in truth there was no such thing. But Janet did not mind his sulkiness; she smiled, and sang, and smiled, for she was thinking—but is nothing to be sacred from aprying race? It is no concern of anyone's what she was thinking, and no doubt she did not desire it to be known, or she would have told Captain Ripley in the course of that long gossip.The Captain stood gazing at her out of the window, with his hands in his pockets and a doleful look of bewilderment on his face. He stared out into the garden, but he was listening to Mrs. Delane, and wondering uneasily if he were really such a dolt as his hostess seemed to consider."You know, Gerard," said Mrs. Delane in her usual tone of suave sovereignty, "that I am anxious to help you all I can. I have always looked forward to it as an event which would give us all pleasure, and I know my husband agrees with me. But really we can't do anything if you don't help yourself."The Captain gnawed his mustache and thrust his hands deeper into his pockets."I can't make her out," said he. "I can't get any farther with her.""It's not the way to 'get farther,'" answered Mrs. Delane, marking the quotation by a delicate emphasis, "with any girl to stand on the other side of the room and scowl whenever she talks to another man.""You mean Bannister?""I mean anybody. I don't care whether it's Mr. Bannister or not. And it's just as useless to pull a long face and look tragic whenever she makes fun of you.""She didn't use to be like that last time I was home.""My dear boy, what has that got to do with it? She was a child then.""She's always blowing me up. This morning she asked me why I didn't go to India instead of wasting my time doing nothing in London."This was certainly unfeeling conduct on Janet's part. Mrs. Delane sighed."I don't know that I quite understand her either, Gerard. There's the Squire calling you. He's ready to ride, I expect."When Janet came, she found her mother alone."Where's Gerard?" she asked."He's gone for a ride.""Is he staying to-night?""Yes; two or three days, I think.""Well, dear, I am glad we amuse him. There doesn't seem much for a man to do here, does there?""Don't you like him to be here?""Oh, I don't mind; only he wastes my time.""I begin to think he's wasting his own too," remarked Mrs. Delane."Oh, he's got nothing else to do with it—or at least he does nothing else with it.""You know what I mean, Janet, dear.""I suppose I do, but how can I help it? I do all I can to show him it's no use.""You used to like him very much.""Oh, so I do now. But that's quite different."The world goes very crooked. Mrs. Delane sighed again."It would have pleased your father very much.""I'm so sorry. But I couldn't care for a man of that sort.""What's the matter with the man, my dear?""That's just it, mamma. Nothing—nothing bad—and nothing good. Gerard is like heaps of men I know.""I think you underrate him. His father was just the same, and he was very distinguished in the House."Janet's gesture betrayed but slight veneration for the High Court of Parliament, as she answered: "They always say that about dull people.""Well, if it's no use, the sooner the poor boy knows it the better.""I can't tell him till he asks me, can I, dear? Though I'm sure he might see it for himself."Mrs. Delane, when she made up her mind to sound her daughter's inclinations, had expected to find doubt, indecision, perhaps even an absence of any positive inclination toward Captain Ripley. She had not been prepared for Janet's unquestioning assumption that the thing was not within the range of consideration. A marriage so excellent from a material point of view, with one who enjoyed all the advantages old intimacy and liking could give, seemed to claim more than the unhesitating dismissal with which Janet relegated it to the limbo ofimpossibility, with never a thought for all the prospects it held out, and never a sigh for the wealth and rank it promised. Of course the Delanes needed no alliances to establish their position; still, as the Squire had no son, it would have been pleasant if his daughter had chosen a husband from the leading family in the county. The more Mrs. Delane thought, the more convinced she became that there must be a reason; and if there were, it could be looked for only in one direction. She wondered whether the Squire'spenchantfor his gifted young neighbor was strong enough to make him welcome him as a son-in-law. Frankly, her own was not.Mr. Delane came in to luncheon, but Captain Ripley sent a message of excuse. He had ridden over to Sir Harry Fulmer's, and would spend the afternoon there. Mrs. Delane's reception of the news conveyed delicately that such conduct was only what might be expected, if one considered how Janet treated the poor fellow, but the Squire was too busy to appreciate the subtleties of his wife's demeanor.Important events were in the way to happen. Denshire, like many other counties, had recently made up its mind that it behooved it to educate itself, and a building had arisen in Denborough which was to serve as an institute of technical education, a school of agriculture, a center of learning, a home of instructive recreation, a haven for the peripatetic lecturer, and several things besides. Lord Cransford had consented to open this temple of the arts, which was nownear completion, and an inauguration by him would have been suitable and proper. But the Squire had something far better to announce. The Lord Lieutenant was, next month, to be honored by a visit from a Royal Duke, and the Royal Duke had graciously consented to come over and open the Institute. It would be an occasion the like of which Denborough had seldom seen, and Lord Cransford and Mr. Delane might well be pardoned the deputy-providential air with which they went about for the few days next following on the successful completion of this delicate negotiation."Now," said the Squire, when he had detailed the Prince's waverings and vacillations, his he-woulds and he-would-nots, and the culmination of his gracious assent, "I have a great idea, and I want you to help me, Jan.""How can I help?" asked Janet, who was already in a flutter of loyalty."When the Duke comes, I want him to have a splendid reception.""I'm sure he will, my dear," said Mrs. Delane; "at least I hope that we are loyal.""We want," continued the Squire, "to show him all our resources.""Well, papa, that won't take him very long. There's the old Mote Hall, and the Roman pavement and——Oh, but will he come here, papa—to the Grange?""I hope he will take luncheon here.""How delightful!" exclaimed Janet joyfully."Goodness!" said Mrs. Delane anxiously."But, Jan, I want to show him our poet!""Papa! Mr. Bannister?""Yes. I want Bannister to write a poem of welcome.""My dear," remarked Mrs. Delane, "Mr. Bannister doesn't like princes;" and she smiled satirically."What do you say, Jan?" asked the Squire, smiling in his turn."Oh, yes, do ask him, papa. I wish he would.""Well, will you ask him to?""Really, George, you are the person to suggest it.""Yes, Mary. But if I fail? Now, Jan?""Oh, don't be foolish papa. It's not likely——""Never mind. Will you?"But Janet had, it seemed, finished her meal; at least she had left the room. Mrs. Delane looked vexed. The Squire laughed, for he was a man who enjoyed his little joke."Poor Jan!" he said. "It's a shame to chaff her on her conquests."Mrs. Delane's fears had been confirmed by her daughter's reception of the raillery. She would have answered in the same tone, and accepted the challenge, if the banter had not hit the mark."It's a pity," said Mrs. Delane, "to encourage her to think so much about this young Bannister.""Eh?" said the Squire, looking up from his plate."She thinks quite enough about him already, and hears enough, too.""Well, I suppose he's something out of the common run, in Denshire at all events, and so he interests her.""She'll have nothing to say to Gerard Ripley.""What? Has he asked her?""No; but I found out from her. He's quite indifferent to her.""I'm sorry for that, but there's time yet. I don't give up hope.""Do you think you help your wishes by asking her to use her influence to make Dale Bannister write poems?"The Squire laid down his napkin and looked at his wife."Oh!" he said, after a pause."Yes," said Mrs. Delane. "Are you surprised?""Yes, I am, rather."He got up and walked about the room, jangling the money in his pocket."We know nothing about young Bannister," he said."Except that he's the son of a Dissenting minister and has lived with very queer people."The Squire frowned; but presently his face cleared. "I dare say we're troubling ourselves quite unnecessarily. I haven't noticed anything.""I dare say not, George," said Mrs. Delane."Come, Mary, you know it's a weakness of yours to find out people's love affairs before they do themselves.""Very well, George," answered she in a resignedtone. "I have told you, and you will act as you think best. Only, if you wouldn't like him for a son-in-law——""Well, my dear, you do go ahead.""Try to put him out of Janet's head, not in it;" and Mrs. Delane swept out of the room.The Squire went to his study, thinking as he went. He would have liked the Ripley connection. Lord Cransford was an old friend, and the match would have been unimpeachable. Still—— The Squire could not quite analyze his feelings, but he did feel that the idea of Dale Bannister was not altogether unattractive. By birth, of course, he was a nobody, and he had done and said, or at least said he had done, or would like to do,—for the Squire on reflection softened down his condemnation,—wild things; but he was a distinguished man, a man of brains, a force in the country. One must move with the times. Nowadays brains opened every front door, and genius was a passport everywhere. He was not sure that he disliked the idea. Women were such sticklers for old notions. Now, he had never been a—stick-in-the-mud Tory. If Dale went on improving as he was doing, the Squire would think twice before he refused him. But there! very likely it was only Mary's match-making instincts making a mountain out of a molehill."I shall keep at Jan about that poem," he ended by saying. "It would be a fine facer for the Radicals."

Mr. Delane Likes the Idea.

On a bright morning, when February was in one of its brief moods of kindliness, Janet Delane was in the garden, and flitting from it into the hothouses in search of flowers. It was half-past eleven, and Captain Ripley had kept her gossiping long after breakfast; that was the worst of idle men staying in a house. So she hastened to and fro in a great parade of business-like activity, and, as she went, she would sing blithely and stop and smile to herself, and break into singing again, and call merrily to her dog, a rotund, slate-colored bundle of hair that waddled after her, and answered, if he were given time to get within earshot, to the name of Mop. Mop was more sedate than his mistress: she only pretended to be on business bent, while he had been dragged out to take a serious constitutional on account of his growing corpulence, and it made him sulky to be called here and beckoned there, and told there were rats, and cats, and what not—whereas in truth there was no such thing. But Janet did not mind his sulkiness; she smiled, and sang, and smiled, for she was thinking—but is nothing to be sacred from aprying race? It is no concern of anyone's what she was thinking, and no doubt she did not desire it to be known, or she would have told Captain Ripley in the course of that long gossip.

The Captain stood gazing at her out of the window, with his hands in his pockets and a doleful look of bewilderment on his face. He stared out into the garden, but he was listening to Mrs. Delane, and wondering uneasily if he were really such a dolt as his hostess seemed to consider.

"You know, Gerard," said Mrs. Delane in her usual tone of suave sovereignty, "that I am anxious to help you all I can. I have always looked forward to it as an event which would give us all pleasure, and I know my husband agrees with me. But really we can't do anything if you don't help yourself."

The Captain gnawed his mustache and thrust his hands deeper into his pockets.

"I can't make her out," said he. "I can't get any farther with her."

"It's not the way to 'get farther,'" answered Mrs. Delane, marking the quotation by a delicate emphasis, "with any girl to stand on the other side of the room and scowl whenever she talks to another man."

"You mean Bannister?"

"I mean anybody. I don't care whether it's Mr. Bannister or not. And it's just as useless to pull a long face and look tragic whenever she makes fun of you."

"She didn't use to be like that last time I was home."

"My dear boy, what has that got to do with it? She was a child then."

"She's always blowing me up. This morning she asked me why I didn't go to India instead of wasting my time doing nothing in London."

This was certainly unfeeling conduct on Janet's part. Mrs. Delane sighed.

"I don't know that I quite understand her either, Gerard. There's the Squire calling you. He's ready to ride, I expect."

When Janet came, she found her mother alone.

"Where's Gerard?" she asked.

"He's gone for a ride."

"Is he staying to-night?"

"Yes; two or three days, I think."

"Well, dear, I am glad we amuse him. There doesn't seem much for a man to do here, does there?"

"Don't you like him to be here?"

"Oh, I don't mind; only he wastes my time."

"I begin to think he's wasting his own too," remarked Mrs. Delane.

"Oh, he's got nothing else to do with it—or at least he does nothing else with it."

"You know what I mean, Janet, dear."

"I suppose I do, but how can I help it? I do all I can to show him it's no use."

"You used to like him very much."

"Oh, so I do now. But that's quite different."

The world goes very crooked. Mrs. Delane sighed again.

"It would have pleased your father very much."

"I'm so sorry. But I couldn't care for a man of that sort."

"What's the matter with the man, my dear?"

"That's just it, mamma. Nothing—nothing bad—and nothing good. Gerard is like heaps of men I know."

"I think you underrate him. His father was just the same, and he was very distinguished in the House."

Janet's gesture betrayed but slight veneration for the High Court of Parliament, as she answered: "They always say that about dull people."

"Well, if it's no use, the sooner the poor boy knows it the better."

"I can't tell him till he asks me, can I, dear? Though I'm sure he might see it for himself."

Mrs. Delane, when she made up her mind to sound her daughter's inclinations, had expected to find doubt, indecision, perhaps even an absence of any positive inclination toward Captain Ripley. She had not been prepared for Janet's unquestioning assumption that the thing was not within the range of consideration. A marriage so excellent from a material point of view, with one who enjoyed all the advantages old intimacy and liking could give, seemed to claim more than the unhesitating dismissal with which Janet relegated it to the limbo ofimpossibility, with never a thought for all the prospects it held out, and never a sigh for the wealth and rank it promised. Of course the Delanes needed no alliances to establish their position; still, as the Squire had no son, it would have been pleasant if his daughter had chosen a husband from the leading family in the county. The more Mrs. Delane thought, the more convinced she became that there must be a reason; and if there were, it could be looked for only in one direction. She wondered whether the Squire'spenchantfor his gifted young neighbor was strong enough to make him welcome him as a son-in-law. Frankly, her own was not.

Mr. Delane came in to luncheon, but Captain Ripley sent a message of excuse. He had ridden over to Sir Harry Fulmer's, and would spend the afternoon there. Mrs. Delane's reception of the news conveyed delicately that such conduct was only what might be expected, if one considered how Janet treated the poor fellow, but the Squire was too busy to appreciate the subtleties of his wife's demeanor.

Important events were in the way to happen. Denshire, like many other counties, had recently made up its mind that it behooved it to educate itself, and a building had arisen in Denborough which was to serve as an institute of technical education, a school of agriculture, a center of learning, a home of instructive recreation, a haven for the peripatetic lecturer, and several things besides. Lord Cransford had consented to open this temple of the arts, which was nownear completion, and an inauguration by him would have been suitable and proper. But the Squire had something far better to announce. The Lord Lieutenant was, next month, to be honored by a visit from a Royal Duke, and the Royal Duke had graciously consented to come over and open the Institute. It would be an occasion the like of which Denborough had seldom seen, and Lord Cransford and Mr. Delane might well be pardoned the deputy-providential air with which they went about for the few days next following on the successful completion of this delicate negotiation.

"Now," said the Squire, when he had detailed the Prince's waverings and vacillations, his he-woulds and he-would-nots, and the culmination of his gracious assent, "I have a great idea, and I want you to help me, Jan."

"How can I help?" asked Janet, who was already in a flutter of loyalty.

"When the Duke comes, I want him to have a splendid reception."

"I'm sure he will, my dear," said Mrs. Delane; "at least I hope that we are loyal."

"We want," continued the Squire, "to show him all our resources."

"Well, papa, that won't take him very long. There's the old Mote Hall, and the Roman pavement and——Oh, but will he come here, papa—to the Grange?"

"I hope he will take luncheon here."

"How delightful!" exclaimed Janet joyfully.

"Goodness!" said Mrs. Delane anxiously.

"But, Jan, I want to show him our poet!"

"Papa! Mr. Bannister?"

"Yes. I want Bannister to write a poem of welcome."

"My dear," remarked Mrs. Delane, "Mr. Bannister doesn't like princes;" and she smiled satirically.

"What do you say, Jan?" asked the Squire, smiling in his turn.

"Oh, yes, do ask him, papa. I wish he would."

"Well, will you ask him to?"

"Really, George, you are the person to suggest it."

"Yes, Mary. But if I fail? Now, Jan?"

"Oh, don't be foolish papa. It's not likely——"

"Never mind. Will you?"

But Janet had, it seemed, finished her meal; at least she had left the room. Mrs. Delane looked vexed. The Squire laughed, for he was a man who enjoyed his little joke.

"Poor Jan!" he said. "It's a shame to chaff her on her conquests."

Mrs. Delane's fears had been confirmed by her daughter's reception of the raillery. She would have answered in the same tone, and accepted the challenge, if the banter had not hit the mark.

"It's a pity," said Mrs. Delane, "to encourage her to think so much about this young Bannister."

"Eh?" said the Squire, looking up from his plate.

"She thinks quite enough about him already, and hears enough, too."

"Well, I suppose he's something out of the common run, in Denshire at all events, and so he interests her."

"She'll have nothing to say to Gerard Ripley."

"What? Has he asked her?"

"No; but I found out from her. He's quite indifferent to her."

"I'm sorry for that, but there's time yet. I don't give up hope."

"Do you think you help your wishes by asking her to use her influence to make Dale Bannister write poems?"

The Squire laid down his napkin and looked at his wife.

"Oh!" he said, after a pause.

"Yes," said Mrs. Delane. "Are you surprised?"

"Yes, I am, rather."

He got up and walked about the room, jangling the money in his pocket.

"We know nothing about young Bannister," he said.

"Except that he's the son of a Dissenting minister and has lived with very queer people."

The Squire frowned; but presently his face cleared. "I dare say we're troubling ourselves quite unnecessarily. I haven't noticed anything."

"I dare say not, George," said Mrs. Delane.

"Come, Mary, you know it's a weakness of yours to find out people's love affairs before they do themselves."

"Very well, George," answered she in a resignedtone. "I have told you, and you will act as you think best. Only, if you wouldn't like him for a son-in-law——"

"Well, my dear, you do go ahead."

"Try to put him out of Janet's head, not in it;" and Mrs. Delane swept out of the room.

The Squire went to his study, thinking as he went. He would have liked the Ripley connection. Lord Cransford was an old friend, and the match would have been unimpeachable. Still—— The Squire could not quite analyze his feelings, but he did feel that the idea of Dale Bannister was not altogether unattractive. By birth, of course, he was a nobody, and he had done and said, or at least said he had done, or would like to do,—for the Squire on reflection softened down his condemnation,—wild things; but he was a distinguished man, a man of brains, a force in the country. One must move with the times. Nowadays brains opened every front door, and genius was a passport everywhere. He was not sure that he disliked the idea. Women were such sticklers for old notions. Now, he had never been a—stick-in-the-mud Tory. If Dale went on improving as he was doing, the Squire would think twice before he refused him. But there! very likely it was only Mary's match-making instincts making a mountain out of a molehill.

"I shall keep at Jan about that poem," he ended by saying. "It would be a fine facer for the Radicals."

CHAPTER XV.How It Seemed to the Doctor.James Roberts made to himself some excuse of business for his sudden expedition to London, but in reality he was moved to go by the desire for sympathy. There are times and moods when a man will do many strange things, if thereby he may gain the comfort of an approving voice. It was not so much his straitened means and impoverished household, with the silent suppressed reproach of his wife's sad face, which made Denborough for the time uninhabitable to the Doctor. The selfishness engendered by his absorption in outside affairs armed him against these; he was more oppressed, and finally overcome and routed to flight, by the universal, unbroken, and unhesitating condemnation and contempt that he met with. The severe banned him as wicked, the charitable dubbed him crazy; even Johnstone, whom he had bought, gave him no sympathy. He could not share his savage sneers, or his bitter mirth, or his passionate indignation, with a man to whom the whole affair was a matter of business or of personal grudge. He felt that he must escape for a time, and seek society inwhich he could unbosom himself and speak from his heart without stirring horror or ridicule. Arthur Angell at least, who, in regard to Dale and Dale's views, had always been a better royalist than the King, would share his anger and appreciate his meditated revenge. The lesson he meant to give the backslider was so appropriate and of such grim humor that Arthur must be delighted with it.On Dale's departure, Arthur Angell had moved into the little flat at the top of the tall building in Chelsea, and there he cultivated the Muses with a devotion which was its own ample reward. Though to be passing rich on forty pounds a year is, with the best will, impossible in London as it is to-day, yet to be passing happy on one hundred and fifty is not beyond the range of youth and enthusiasm, when the future still provides a gorgeous setting and background, wherein the sordid details of the present are merged and lose their prominence, and all trials are but landmarks by which the hopeful grub counts his nearer approach to butterflydom. The little room, the humble chop, the occasional pit, the constant tobacco, the unending talks with fellows like-minded and like-pursed—all these had the beauty of literary tradition, and if not a guarantee, seemed at least a condition of future fame. So Arthur often said to Mrs. Hodge, who lived in the same block, a couple of floors lower down; and Mrs. Hodge heartily agreed as she instanced, in confirmation of the doctrine, how the late Mr. Hodge had once played the King at two poundten,consule Pratt, and had lived to manage his own theater. This was to compare small things with great, felt Arthur, but the truth is true in whatever sphere it works.Into his happy life there broke suddenly the tempestuous form of the Denborough Doctor. He arrived with but a pound or two in his pocket with wild ideas of employment on ultra-Radical newspapers; above all, with the full load of his rage against Dale Bannister, the traitor. He strode up and down the little room, tugging his beard and fiercely denouncing the renegade, while Arthur looked at his troubled eyes and knitted brows, and wondered if his mind were not unhinged. Who could talk like that about Dale, if he were sane? Arthur would have chaffed his friend, laughed at him, ridiculed him, perhaps slyly hinted at the illicit charms of rank and wealth, for which the poet's old mistress mourned deserted. But to speak in hate and rancor! And what was he plotting?But when he heard the plot, his face cleared, and he laughed."I think you're hard on Dale," he said; "but, after all, it will be a good joke.""Johnstone will do it," exclaimed the Doctor, pausing in his stride. "His shop window will be full of them. He'll have sandwich-men all over the place. Bannister won't be able to go out without being met by his own words—the words he denies. I'll cram them down his throat."Arthur laughed again."It will be awkward when he's walking with old Delane.""Aye, and with that girl who's got hold of him. He shan't forget what he wrote—nor shall a soul in Denborough either. I'll make his treachery plain, if I spend my last farthing.""When are you going back?""In a week. It will all be ready in a week. He'll know who did it. Curse him!""My dear Doctor, aren't you a little——""Are you like that, too?" burst out Roberts. "Have none of you any sincerity? Is it sham with all of you? You laugh as if it were a joke.""I can't be angry with old Dale. I expect he'll only laugh himself, you know. It will be good fun."Roberts looked at him in hopeless wrath. It seemed to him that these men, who wrote the words and proclaimed the truths which had turned his life and reformed his soul, were themselves but playing with what they taught. Were they only actors—or amusing themselves?"You are as bad as he is," he said angrily, and stalked out of the room.Arthur, puzzled with his unmanageable guest, went down, as he often did, to his neighbors, and laid the whole case before Mrs. Hodge and Nellie Fane. He found them both in, Nellie having just returned from an afternoon concert where she had been singing."I believe the fellow's half mad, you know," said Arthur."If he isn't, he ought to be ashamed of himself," said Mrs. Hodge, and she launched on a description of Mrs. Robert's pitiable state."Well, I don't think that he's got more than five pounds in the world," responded Arthur. "And he's got no chance of making any money. Nobody dares publish what he wants to write.""He used to be pleasant at Littlehill," Nellie remarked, "when we were first there.""Yes, wasn't he? But he's gone quite wild over Dale. Do you know what his next move is?" And Arthur disclosed the Johnstone conspiracy."It will be rather sport, won't it?" he asked. "Poor old Dale!"But no; Miss Fane did not see the "sport." She was indignant; she thought that such a trick was mean, malicious, and odious in the highest degree, and she was surprised that Arthur Angell could be amused at it."Women never see a joke," said Arthur huffily."Where's the joke in making Dale unhappy and—and absurd? And you call yourself his friend!""It's only a joke. Old Dale does deserve a dig, you know.""And pray, why? You choose your friends, why mayn't he choose his? I dare say you would be glad enough to know that sort of people if you could.""Oh, come, Nellie! I'm not like that.Besides, it's not the people; it's what he's written.""I've read what he's written. It's beautiful. No, I call the whole thing horrid, and just like Dr. Roberts.""I suppose you think, just like me, too?""If you don't write and warn Dale, I shall.""I say, you mustn't do that. I told you in confidence. Roberts will be furious.""What do I care for Dr. Roberts' fury? I shall write at once;" and she sat down at the table.Arthur glanced in despair at Mrs. Hodge, but that discreet lady was entirely hidden in the evening paper."Well, I'll never tell you anything again, Nellie," he said."You'll never have the chance, unless you behave something like a gentleman," retorted Nellie.Arthur banged the door as he went out, exclaiming:"Damn Roberts! What does he want to make a row for?"Meanwhile, the Doctor, who was angry enough with Arthur Angell to have rejoiced had he known that he had embroiled him in a quarter where Arthur was growing very anxious to stand well, was pacing the streets, nursing his resentment. His head ached, and fragments of what he had read, and half-forgotten conversations, mingling in his whirling brain, fretted and bewildered him. He could think of nothing but his wrongs and his revenge,returning always to hug himself on his own earnestness, and angrily to sneer at the weakness and treachery of his friends. Whatever it cost him or his, the world should see that there was one man ready to sacrifice himself for truth and right—and punish "that hound Dale Bannister."As he walked, he bought the special edition of the paper, and, in hastily glancing at it, his eye was caught by the announcement that His Royal Highness the Duke of Mercia was to visit Lord Cransford, and would open the Institute at Market Denborough. The paragraph went on to describe the preparations being made to give the Prince a loyal reception, and ended by saying that it was hoped that the eminent poet, Mr. Dale Bannister, who was resident at Denborough, would consent to write a few lines of welcome to the illustrious visitor. The writer added a word or two of good-natured banter about Mr. Bannister's appearance in a new character, and the well-known effect which the proximity of royalty was apt to have on English republicanism. "Who knows," he concluded, "that Mr. Bannister may not figure as Sir Dale before long?"The Doctor read the paragraph twice, the flush of anger reddening his pale face. Then he crumpled up the paper and flung it from him, resuming his hasty, restless walk. He could imagine the sickening scene, the rampant adulation, the blatant snobbishness. And, in the midst, a dishonored participator, the man who had been his leader, his liberator, theapostle of all he loved and lived by. Had the man been a hypocrite from the first? Impossible! No hypocrite could have written those burning lines which leaped to his memory and his lips. Or was he merely a weak fool? That could not be either. It was a barter, a deliberate barter of truth and honor against profit—as sordid a transaction as could be. He wanted a position in society, money, a rich wife, petting from great people—perhaps even, as that scribbler said, a ribbon to stick in his coat or a handle to fasten to his name. How could he? how could he? And the Doctor passed his hand across his hot, throbbing brow in the bewilderment of wrath.For an hour and more he ranged the streets aimlessly, a prey to his unreasoning fury. For this man's sake he had ruined himself; led on by this man's words, he had defied the world—his world. At all hazards he had joined the daring band. Now he was forsaken, abandoned, flung aside. He and his like had served their turn. On their backs Dale Bannister had mounted. But now he had done with them, and their lot was repudiation and disdain. Roberts could not find words for his scorn and contempt. His head racked him more and more. Connected thought seemed to become impossible; he could do nothing but repeat again and again, "The traitor! The traitor!"At last he turned home to his humble lodgings. The short hush of very early morning had fallen on the streets; he met no one, and the moon shone placidly down on the solitaryfigure of the maddened man, wrestling with his unconquerable rage. He could not stem it; yielding to its impulse, with quivering voice and face working with passion, he stretched his clenched fist to the sky and cried:"By God, he shall pay for it!"

How It Seemed to the Doctor.

James Roberts made to himself some excuse of business for his sudden expedition to London, but in reality he was moved to go by the desire for sympathy. There are times and moods when a man will do many strange things, if thereby he may gain the comfort of an approving voice. It was not so much his straitened means and impoverished household, with the silent suppressed reproach of his wife's sad face, which made Denborough for the time uninhabitable to the Doctor. The selfishness engendered by his absorption in outside affairs armed him against these; he was more oppressed, and finally overcome and routed to flight, by the universal, unbroken, and unhesitating condemnation and contempt that he met with. The severe banned him as wicked, the charitable dubbed him crazy; even Johnstone, whom he had bought, gave him no sympathy. He could not share his savage sneers, or his bitter mirth, or his passionate indignation, with a man to whom the whole affair was a matter of business or of personal grudge. He felt that he must escape for a time, and seek society inwhich he could unbosom himself and speak from his heart without stirring horror or ridicule. Arthur Angell at least, who, in regard to Dale and Dale's views, had always been a better royalist than the King, would share his anger and appreciate his meditated revenge. The lesson he meant to give the backslider was so appropriate and of such grim humor that Arthur must be delighted with it.

On Dale's departure, Arthur Angell had moved into the little flat at the top of the tall building in Chelsea, and there he cultivated the Muses with a devotion which was its own ample reward. Though to be passing rich on forty pounds a year is, with the best will, impossible in London as it is to-day, yet to be passing happy on one hundred and fifty is not beyond the range of youth and enthusiasm, when the future still provides a gorgeous setting and background, wherein the sordid details of the present are merged and lose their prominence, and all trials are but landmarks by which the hopeful grub counts his nearer approach to butterflydom. The little room, the humble chop, the occasional pit, the constant tobacco, the unending talks with fellows like-minded and like-pursed—all these had the beauty of literary tradition, and if not a guarantee, seemed at least a condition of future fame. So Arthur often said to Mrs. Hodge, who lived in the same block, a couple of floors lower down; and Mrs. Hodge heartily agreed as she instanced, in confirmation of the doctrine, how the late Mr. Hodge had once played the King at two poundten,consule Pratt, and had lived to manage his own theater. This was to compare small things with great, felt Arthur, but the truth is true in whatever sphere it works.

Into his happy life there broke suddenly the tempestuous form of the Denborough Doctor. He arrived with but a pound or two in his pocket with wild ideas of employment on ultra-Radical newspapers; above all, with the full load of his rage against Dale Bannister, the traitor. He strode up and down the little room, tugging his beard and fiercely denouncing the renegade, while Arthur looked at his troubled eyes and knitted brows, and wondered if his mind were not unhinged. Who could talk like that about Dale, if he were sane? Arthur would have chaffed his friend, laughed at him, ridiculed him, perhaps slyly hinted at the illicit charms of rank and wealth, for which the poet's old mistress mourned deserted. But to speak in hate and rancor! And what was he plotting?

But when he heard the plot, his face cleared, and he laughed.

"I think you're hard on Dale," he said; "but, after all, it will be a good joke."

"Johnstone will do it," exclaimed the Doctor, pausing in his stride. "His shop window will be full of them. He'll have sandwich-men all over the place. Bannister won't be able to go out without being met by his own words—the words he denies. I'll cram them down his throat."

Arthur laughed again.

"It will be awkward when he's walking with old Delane."

"Aye, and with that girl who's got hold of him. He shan't forget what he wrote—nor shall a soul in Denborough either. I'll make his treachery plain, if I spend my last farthing."

"When are you going back?"

"In a week. It will all be ready in a week. He'll know who did it. Curse him!"

"My dear Doctor, aren't you a little——"

"Are you like that, too?" burst out Roberts. "Have none of you any sincerity? Is it sham with all of you? You laugh as if it were a joke."

"I can't be angry with old Dale. I expect he'll only laugh himself, you know. It will be good fun."

Roberts looked at him in hopeless wrath. It seemed to him that these men, who wrote the words and proclaimed the truths which had turned his life and reformed his soul, were themselves but playing with what they taught. Were they only actors—or amusing themselves?

"You are as bad as he is," he said angrily, and stalked out of the room.

Arthur, puzzled with his unmanageable guest, went down, as he often did, to his neighbors, and laid the whole case before Mrs. Hodge and Nellie Fane. He found them both in, Nellie having just returned from an afternoon concert where she had been singing.

"I believe the fellow's half mad, you know," said Arthur.

"If he isn't, he ought to be ashamed of himself," said Mrs. Hodge, and she launched on a description of Mrs. Robert's pitiable state.

"Well, I don't think that he's got more than five pounds in the world," responded Arthur. "And he's got no chance of making any money. Nobody dares publish what he wants to write."

"He used to be pleasant at Littlehill," Nellie remarked, "when we were first there."

"Yes, wasn't he? But he's gone quite wild over Dale. Do you know what his next move is?" And Arthur disclosed the Johnstone conspiracy.

"It will be rather sport, won't it?" he asked. "Poor old Dale!"

But no; Miss Fane did not see the "sport." She was indignant; she thought that such a trick was mean, malicious, and odious in the highest degree, and she was surprised that Arthur Angell could be amused at it.

"Women never see a joke," said Arthur huffily.

"Where's the joke in making Dale unhappy and—and absurd? And you call yourself his friend!"

"It's only a joke. Old Dale does deserve a dig, you know."

"And pray, why? You choose your friends, why mayn't he choose his? I dare say you would be glad enough to know that sort of people if you could."

"Oh, come, Nellie! I'm not like that.Besides, it's not the people; it's what he's written."

"I've read what he's written. It's beautiful. No, I call the whole thing horrid, and just like Dr. Roberts."

"I suppose you think, just like me, too?"

"If you don't write and warn Dale, I shall."

"I say, you mustn't do that. I told you in confidence. Roberts will be furious."

"What do I care for Dr. Roberts' fury? I shall write at once;" and she sat down at the table.

Arthur glanced in despair at Mrs. Hodge, but that discreet lady was entirely hidden in the evening paper.

"Well, I'll never tell you anything again, Nellie," he said.

"You'll never have the chance, unless you behave something like a gentleman," retorted Nellie.

Arthur banged the door as he went out, exclaiming:

"Damn Roberts! What does he want to make a row for?"

Meanwhile, the Doctor, who was angry enough with Arthur Angell to have rejoiced had he known that he had embroiled him in a quarter where Arthur was growing very anxious to stand well, was pacing the streets, nursing his resentment. His head ached, and fragments of what he had read, and half-forgotten conversations, mingling in his whirling brain, fretted and bewildered him. He could think of nothing but his wrongs and his revenge,returning always to hug himself on his own earnestness, and angrily to sneer at the weakness and treachery of his friends. Whatever it cost him or his, the world should see that there was one man ready to sacrifice himself for truth and right—and punish "that hound Dale Bannister."

As he walked, he bought the special edition of the paper, and, in hastily glancing at it, his eye was caught by the announcement that His Royal Highness the Duke of Mercia was to visit Lord Cransford, and would open the Institute at Market Denborough. The paragraph went on to describe the preparations being made to give the Prince a loyal reception, and ended by saying that it was hoped that the eminent poet, Mr. Dale Bannister, who was resident at Denborough, would consent to write a few lines of welcome to the illustrious visitor. The writer added a word or two of good-natured banter about Mr. Bannister's appearance in a new character, and the well-known effect which the proximity of royalty was apt to have on English republicanism. "Who knows," he concluded, "that Mr. Bannister may not figure as Sir Dale before long?"

The Doctor read the paragraph twice, the flush of anger reddening his pale face. Then he crumpled up the paper and flung it from him, resuming his hasty, restless walk. He could imagine the sickening scene, the rampant adulation, the blatant snobbishness. And, in the midst, a dishonored participator, the man who had been his leader, his liberator, theapostle of all he loved and lived by. Had the man been a hypocrite from the first? Impossible! No hypocrite could have written those burning lines which leaped to his memory and his lips. Or was he merely a weak fool? That could not be either. It was a barter, a deliberate barter of truth and honor against profit—as sordid a transaction as could be. He wanted a position in society, money, a rich wife, petting from great people—perhaps even, as that scribbler said, a ribbon to stick in his coat or a handle to fasten to his name. How could he? how could he? And the Doctor passed his hand across his hot, throbbing brow in the bewilderment of wrath.

For an hour and more he ranged the streets aimlessly, a prey to his unreasoning fury. For this man's sake he had ruined himself; led on by this man's words, he had defied the world—his world. At all hazards he had joined the daring band. Now he was forsaken, abandoned, flung aside. He and his like had served their turn. On their backs Dale Bannister had mounted. But now he had done with them, and their lot was repudiation and disdain. Roberts could not find words for his scorn and contempt. His head racked him more and more. Connected thought seemed to become impossible; he could do nothing but repeat again and again, "The traitor! The traitor!"

At last he turned home to his humble lodgings. The short hush of very early morning had fallen on the streets; he met no one, and the moon shone placidly down on the solitaryfigure of the maddened man, wrestling with his unconquerable rage. He could not stem it; yielding to its impulse, with quivering voice and face working with passion, he stretched his clenched fist to the sky and cried:

"By God, he shall pay for it!"

CHAPTER XVI."No More Kings."After her father's report and the departure of Nellie Fane, Miss Tora Smith had been pleased to reconsider her judgment of Dale Bannister, and to modify it to some extent. The poems and the suspicion, taken in conjunction, each casting a lurid light on the other, had been very bad indeed; but when Tora's mind was disabused of the suspicion, she found it in her heart to pardon the poems. Although she treated Sir Harry Fulmer with scant ceremony, she had no small respect for his opinion, and when he and the Colonel coincided in the decision that Dale need not be ostracized, she did not persist against them. She was led to be more compliant by the fact that she was organizing an important Liberal gathering, and had conceived the ambition of inducing Dale to take part in the proceedings."Fancy, if he would write us a song!" she said; "a song which we could sing in chorus. Wouldn't it be splendid?""What would the Squire say?" asked Sir Harry.Tora smiled mischievously."Are you," she demanded, "going to stand by and see him captured by the Grange?""He ought to be with us, oughtn't he?" said Sir Harry."Of course. And if our leader had an ounce of zeal——""I'll write to him to-day," said Sir Harry."Yes; and mind you persuade him. I shall be so amused to see what Jan Delane says, if he writes us a song.""He won't do it.""He won't, if you go in that despairing mood. Now write at once. Write as if you expected it."The outcome of this conversation, together with the idea which had struck the Squire, was, of course, that Dale received, almost by the same post, an urgent request for a militant Radical ditty, and a delicate, but very flattering, suggestion that it would be most agreeable to His Royal Highness—indeed he had hinted as much in response to Lord Cransford's question—to find the loyalty of Denborough, as it were, crystallized in one of Mr. Bannister's undying productions. For the first time in his life, Dale felt a grudge against the Muses for their endowment. Could not these people let him alone? He did not desire to put himself forward; he only asked to be let alone. It was almost as repugnant to him—at least, he thought it would be—to take part in Lord Cransford's pageant, as it certainly would be to hear the Radicals of Denborough screeching out his verses. He was a man of letters, not apolitician, and he thought both requests very uncalled for. It might be that the Grange folks had some claim on him, but his acquaintance with Sir Harry Fulmer was of the slightest; and what did the man mean by talking of his "well-known views"? He was as bad as the Doctor himself. Presently Philip Hume came in, and Dale disclosed his perplexities."I want to please people," he said, "but this is rather strong.""Write both," suggested Philip."That will enrage both of them.""Then write neither.""Really, Phil, you might show some interest in the matter.""I am preoccupied. Have you been in the town to-day, Dale?""No.""Then you haven't seen Johnstone's window?""Johnstone's window? What does Johnstone want with a window?""Put on your hat and come and see. Yes, come along. It concerns you."They walked down together in the gathering dusk of the afternoon, and when they came near Johnstone's, they saw his window lighted with a blaze of gas, and a little knot of curious people standing outside. The window was full of Dale's books, and the rows of green volumes were surmounted by a large placard—"Dale Bannister, the poet of Denborough—Works on Sale Here. Ask for 'The Clarion,' 'The Arch Apostates,' 'Blood for Blood'"; and outside, afile of men carried boards, headed, "The Rights of the People. Read Dale Bannister! No more Kings! No more Priests! Read Dale Bannister!"A curse broke from Dale. Philip smiled grimly."Who's done this?" Dale asked.Philip pointed to a solitary figure which stood on the opposite side of the road, looking on at the spectacle. It was James Roberts, and he smiled grimly in his turn when he saw the poet and his friend."He put Johnstone up to it," said Philip. "Johnstone told me so."Dale was aflame. He strode quickly across the road to where the Doctor stood, and said to him hotly:"This is your work, is it?"The Doctor was jaunty and cool in manner."No, your works," he answered, with a foolish, exasperating snigger. "Aren't you pleased to see what notice they are attracting? I was afraid they were being forgotten in Denborough.""God only knows," said Dale angrily, "why you take pleasure in annoying me; but I have borne enough of your insolence.""Is it insolent to spread the sale of your books?""You will make your jackal take those books down and stop his infernal posters, or I'll thrash you within an inch of your life.""Ah!" said Roberts, and his hand stole toward his breast-pocket."What do you say?""I say that if I can make a wretched snob like you unhappy, it's money well spent, and I'll see you damned before I take the books down."Dale grasped his walking-cane and took a step forward. The Doctor stood waiting for him, smiling and keeping his hand in his pocket."Jim!"The Doctor turned and saw his wife at his side. Dale fell back, lifting his hat, at the sight of the pale distressed face and clasped hands."Do come home, dear!" she said, with an appealing glance.Philip took Dale's arm."Come," he said, "let's reason with Johnstone."Dale allowed himself to be led away, not knowing that death had stared him in the face; for it was a loaded revolver that Roberts let fall back into the recesses of his pocket when his wife's touch recalled for a moment his saner sense.The reasoning with Johnstone was not a success. Dale tried threats, abuse, and entreaties, all in vain. At last he condescended to bribery, and offered Johnstone twice the sum, whatever it might be, which he had received. He felt his degradation, but the annoyance was intolerable.The Alderman's attitude, on receiving this offer, was not without pathos. He lamented in himself an obstinate rectitude, which he declaredhad often stood in his way in business affairs. His political convictions, engaged as they were in the matter, he would have sacrificed, if the favor thereby accorded to Mr. Bannister were so great as to be measured by two hundred pounds; but he had passed his word; and he concluded by beseeching Dale not to tempt him above that which he was able."Take it away, take it away, sir," he said when Dale held a pocketbook before his longing eyes. "It aint right, sir, it aint indeed—and me a family man."Dale began to feel the guilt of the Tempter, and fell back on an appeal to the Alderman's better feelings. This line of argument elicited only a smile."If I won't do it for two hundred sovereigns, does it stand to reason, sir, as I should do it to obleege?"Dale left him, after a plain statement of the estimation in which he held him, and went home, yielding, only after a struggle, to Philip's representation that any attempt to bribe the sandwich-men must result in his own greater humiliation and discomfiture.Angry as Dale was, he determined not to allow this incident to turn him from the course he had marked out for himself. It confirmed his determination to have nothing to do with Sir Harry's Radical song, but it did not make him any the more inclined to appear as a eulogist of royalty. Neutrality in all political matters was his chosen course, and it appeared to him to be incomparably the wisest under allthe circumstances. This view he expressed to the family at the Grange, having walked over for that purpose. He expected to meet with some opposition, but to his surprise the Squire heartily acquiesced."After this scandalous business," he said, "you must cut the Radicals altogether. Of course, Harry Fulmer will object to it as much as we do, but he must be responsible for his followers. And I think you're quite right to let us alone, too. Why should you literary men bother with politics?"Dale was delighted at this opinion, and at Janet's concurrence with it."Then I dare say you will be so kind as to express my feelings to Lord Cransford; if he thinks fit, he can let the Duke know them."The Squire's face expressed surprise, and his daughter's reflected it."But, my dear fellow," said Mr. Delane, "what has Cransford's suggestion to do with politics? The throne is above politics.""Surely, Mr. Bannister," added Janet, "we are all loyal, whatever our politics? I'm sure Sir Harry himself is as loyal as papa.""Come, Bannister, you press your scruples too far. There are no politics in this."Dale was staggered, but not convinced."I'd rather not put myself forward at all," he said.The Squire assumed an air of apologetic friendliness."I know you'll excuse me, Bannister. I'm twice your age or more, and I—well—I haven'tbeen so lucky as you in escaping the world of etiquette. But, my dear fellow, when the Duke sends a message—it really comes to that—it's a strongish thing to say you won't do it. Oh, of course, you can if you like—there's no beheading nowadays; but it's not very usual.""I wish Lord Cransford had never mentioned me to the Duke at all.""Perhaps it would have been wiser," the Squire conceded candidly, "but Cransford is so proud of anything that bringskudosto the county, and he could no more leave you out than he could the Institute itself. Well, we mustn't force you. Think it over, think it over. I must be off. No, don't you go. Stay and have tea with the ladies;" and the Squire, who, as has been previously mentioned, was no fool, left his daughter to entertain his guest.Janet was working at a piece of embroidery, and she went on working in silence for a minute or two. Then she looked up and said:"Tora Smith was here this morning. She'll be very disappointed at your refusal to write for her meeting.""Miss Smith has no claim on me," said Dale stiffly. He had not forgotten Tora's injurious suspicions. "Besides, one doesn't do such things simply for the asking—not even if it's a lady who asks.""You know, I don't think anybody ought to ask—no, not princes; and I hope you won't do what Lord Cransford wants merely because you're asked.""Your father says I ought.""Papa wants you to do it very much.""And I should like to do what he wants.""I should like you to do what he wants, but not because he wants it," said Janet.Dale turned round to her and said abruptly:"I'll do it, if you want me to."Now this was flattering, and Janet could not deny that it gave her pleasure; but she clung to her principles."I don't want it—in that sense," she answered. "I should be glad if it seemed to you a right thing to do; but I should be sorry if you did it, unless it did.""You will not let me do it for you?""No," she answered, smiling."You have no pleasure in obedience?""Oh, well, only in willing obedience," said she, with a smile."It would be very willing—even eager.""The motive would not be right. But how absurd! I believe——""Well, what?""That you mean to do it, and are trying to kill two birds with one stone.""You don't really think that, Miss Delane?""No, of course not. Only you were becoming so serious.""May I not be serious?""It isn't serious to offer to take important steps because it would please a girl.""Aren't you rather contradicting yourself? You called that becoming serious just now.""If I am, it is a privilege we all have.""Girls, you mean? Well, you refuse to help me?""Entirely.""Even to counteract Miss Smith's illicit influence?""I shall trust to your own sense of propriety."Dale walked home, grievously puzzled. A small matter may raise a great issue, and he felt, perhaps without full reason, that he was at the parting of the ways. "No more Kings! No more Priests!" Or "An Ode to H. R. H. the Duke of Mercia on his visit to Denborough"! Dale ruefully admitted that there would be ground for a charge of inconsistency. Some would talk of conversion, some of tergiversation; he could not make up his mind which accusation would be the more odious. There was clearly nothing for it but absolute neutrality; he must refuse both requests. Janet would understand why; of course she would, she must; and even if she did not, what was that to him? The throne above politics!—that must be a mere sophism; there could not be anything in that. No doubt this young Prince was not morally responsible for the evils, but he personified the system, and Dale could not bow the knee before him. If it had been possible—and as he went he began idly to frame words for an ode of welcome. An idea or two, a very happy turn, came into his head; he knew exactly the tone to take, just how far to go, just the mean that reconciles deference to independence. He had the whole thing mapped out before he recalled to himself the thought that he was not going to write at all, and ashe entered his own garden he sighed at the necessary relinquishing of a stately couplet. There was no doubt that work of that class opened a new field, a hitherto virgin soil, to his genius. It was a great pity.In the garden, to his surprise, he came on Arthur Angell. "What brings you here, Arthur?" he said. "Delighted to see you, though."Arthur explained that he had run down at Nellie Fane's bidding. Nellie had written her letter of warning about the Doctor's conspiracy, but, having thus relieved her mind, had straightway forgotten all about her letter, and it had lain unposted in her pocket for a week. Then she found it, and sent Arthur off in haste to stop the mischief."It's awfully kind of Nellie," said Dale; "but I don't suppose it would have been of any use, and anyhow it's too late now.""Yes, so Phil told me.""A dirty trick, isn't it?""Well, I suppose it's rather rough on you," said Arthur, struggling between principles and friendship, and entirely suppressing his own privity to the said dirty trick."You'll stay?""I've got no clothes.""Oh, Wilson will see to that. Come in."Philip met them at the door."I've a message for you, Dale," he said. "The Mayor has been here.""And what may the Mayor want?""The Mayor came as an ambassador. Hebore a resolution from the Town Council, a unanimous resolution (absenteJohnstone owing to pressure in the bookselling trade), begging you to accede to the Lord Lieutenant's request and write a poem for the Duke.""Hang the Town Council!" exclaimed Dale. "I wonder why nobody will let me alone!"Then he remembered that Miss Delane had been almost ostentatious in her determination to let him alone. If he wrote, they could not say that he had written to please her. But he was not going to write. True, it would have been a good revenge on the Doctor, and it would have pleased——"Shall you do the ode?" asked Philip Hume."Certainly not," answered Dale in a resolute tone.

"No More Kings."

After her father's report and the departure of Nellie Fane, Miss Tora Smith had been pleased to reconsider her judgment of Dale Bannister, and to modify it to some extent. The poems and the suspicion, taken in conjunction, each casting a lurid light on the other, had been very bad indeed; but when Tora's mind was disabused of the suspicion, she found it in her heart to pardon the poems. Although she treated Sir Harry Fulmer with scant ceremony, she had no small respect for his opinion, and when he and the Colonel coincided in the decision that Dale need not be ostracized, she did not persist against them. She was led to be more compliant by the fact that she was organizing an important Liberal gathering, and had conceived the ambition of inducing Dale to take part in the proceedings.

"Fancy, if he would write us a song!" she said; "a song which we could sing in chorus. Wouldn't it be splendid?"

"What would the Squire say?" asked Sir Harry.

Tora smiled mischievously.

"Are you," she demanded, "going to stand by and see him captured by the Grange?"

"He ought to be with us, oughtn't he?" said Sir Harry.

"Of course. And if our leader had an ounce of zeal——"

"I'll write to him to-day," said Sir Harry.

"Yes; and mind you persuade him. I shall be so amused to see what Jan Delane says, if he writes us a song."

"He won't do it."

"He won't, if you go in that despairing mood. Now write at once. Write as if you expected it."

The outcome of this conversation, together with the idea which had struck the Squire, was, of course, that Dale received, almost by the same post, an urgent request for a militant Radical ditty, and a delicate, but very flattering, suggestion that it would be most agreeable to His Royal Highness—indeed he had hinted as much in response to Lord Cransford's question—to find the loyalty of Denborough, as it were, crystallized in one of Mr. Bannister's undying productions. For the first time in his life, Dale felt a grudge against the Muses for their endowment. Could not these people let him alone? He did not desire to put himself forward; he only asked to be let alone. It was almost as repugnant to him—at least, he thought it would be—to take part in Lord Cransford's pageant, as it certainly would be to hear the Radicals of Denborough screeching out his verses. He was a man of letters, not apolitician, and he thought both requests very uncalled for. It might be that the Grange folks had some claim on him, but his acquaintance with Sir Harry Fulmer was of the slightest; and what did the man mean by talking of his "well-known views"? He was as bad as the Doctor himself. Presently Philip Hume came in, and Dale disclosed his perplexities.

"I want to please people," he said, "but this is rather strong."

"Write both," suggested Philip.

"That will enrage both of them."

"Then write neither."

"Really, Phil, you might show some interest in the matter."

"I am preoccupied. Have you been in the town to-day, Dale?"

"No."

"Then you haven't seen Johnstone's window?"

"Johnstone's window? What does Johnstone want with a window?"

"Put on your hat and come and see. Yes, come along. It concerns you."

They walked down together in the gathering dusk of the afternoon, and when they came near Johnstone's, they saw his window lighted with a blaze of gas, and a little knot of curious people standing outside. The window was full of Dale's books, and the rows of green volumes were surmounted by a large placard—"Dale Bannister, the poet of Denborough—Works on Sale Here. Ask for 'The Clarion,' 'The Arch Apostates,' 'Blood for Blood'"; and outside, afile of men carried boards, headed, "The Rights of the People. Read Dale Bannister! No more Kings! No more Priests! Read Dale Bannister!"

A curse broke from Dale. Philip smiled grimly.

"Who's done this?" Dale asked.

Philip pointed to a solitary figure which stood on the opposite side of the road, looking on at the spectacle. It was James Roberts, and he smiled grimly in his turn when he saw the poet and his friend.

"He put Johnstone up to it," said Philip. "Johnstone told me so."

Dale was aflame. He strode quickly across the road to where the Doctor stood, and said to him hotly:

"This is your work, is it?"

The Doctor was jaunty and cool in manner.

"No, your works," he answered, with a foolish, exasperating snigger. "Aren't you pleased to see what notice they are attracting? I was afraid they were being forgotten in Denborough."

"God only knows," said Dale angrily, "why you take pleasure in annoying me; but I have borne enough of your insolence."

"Is it insolent to spread the sale of your books?"

"You will make your jackal take those books down and stop his infernal posters, or I'll thrash you within an inch of your life."

"Ah!" said Roberts, and his hand stole toward his breast-pocket.

"What do you say?"

"I say that if I can make a wretched snob like you unhappy, it's money well spent, and I'll see you damned before I take the books down."

Dale grasped his walking-cane and took a step forward. The Doctor stood waiting for him, smiling and keeping his hand in his pocket.

"Jim!"

The Doctor turned and saw his wife at his side. Dale fell back, lifting his hat, at the sight of the pale distressed face and clasped hands.

"Do come home, dear!" she said, with an appealing glance.

Philip took Dale's arm.

"Come," he said, "let's reason with Johnstone."

Dale allowed himself to be led away, not knowing that death had stared him in the face; for it was a loaded revolver that Roberts let fall back into the recesses of his pocket when his wife's touch recalled for a moment his saner sense.

The reasoning with Johnstone was not a success. Dale tried threats, abuse, and entreaties, all in vain. At last he condescended to bribery, and offered Johnstone twice the sum, whatever it might be, which he had received. He felt his degradation, but the annoyance was intolerable.

The Alderman's attitude, on receiving this offer, was not without pathos. He lamented in himself an obstinate rectitude, which he declaredhad often stood in his way in business affairs. His political convictions, engaged as they were in the matter, he would have sacrificed, if the favor thereby accorded to Mr. Bannister were so great as to be measured by two hundred pounds; but he had passed his word; and he concluded by beseeching Dale not to tempt him above that which he was able.

"Take it away, take it away, sir," he said when Dale held a pocketbook before his longing eyes. "It aint right, sir, it aint indeed—and me a family man."

Dale began to feel the guilt of the Tempter, and fell back on an appeal to the Alderman's better feelings. This line of argument elicited only a smile.

"If I won't do it for two hundred sovereigns, does it stand to reason, sir, as I should do it to obleege?"

Dale left him, after a plain statement of the estimation in which he held him, and went home, yielding, only after a struggle, to Philip's representation that any attempt to bribe the sandwich-men must result in his own greater humiliation and discomfiture.

Angry as Dale was, he determined not to allow this incident to turn him from the course he had marked out for himself. It confirmed his determination to have nothing to do with Sir Harry's Radical song, but it did not make him any the more inclined to appear as a eulogist of royalty. Neutrality in all political matters was his chosen course, and it appeared to him to be incomparably the wisest under allthe circumstances. This view he expressed to the family at the Grange, having walked over for that purpose. He expected to meet with some opposition, but to his surprise the Squire heartily acquiesced.

"After this scandalous business," he said, "you must cut the Radicals altogether. Of course, Harry Fulmer will object to it as much as we do, but he must be responsible for his followers. And I think you're quite right to let us alone, too. Why should you literary men bother with politics?"

Dale was delighted at this opinion, and at Janet's concurrence with it.

"Then I dare say you will be so kind as to express my feelings to Lord Cransford; if he thinks fit, he can let the Duke know them."

The Squire's face expressed surprise, and his daughter's reflected it.

"But, my dear fellow," said Mr. Delane, "what has Cransford's suggestion to do with politics? The throne is above politics."

"Surely, Mr. Bannister," added Janet, "we are all loyal, whatever our politics? I'm sure Sir Harry himself is as loyal as papa."

"Come, Bannister, you press your scruples too far. There are no politics in this."

Dale was staggered, but not convinced.

"I'd rather not put myself forward at all," he said.

The Squire assumed an air of apologetic friendliness.

"I know you'll excuse me, Bannister. I'm twice your age or more, and I—well—I haven'tbeen so lucky as you in escaping the world of etiquette. But, my dear fellow, when the Duke sends a message—it really comes to that—it's a strongish thing to say you won't do it. Oh, of course, you can if you like—there's no beheading nowadays; but it's not very usual."

"I wish Lord Cransford had never mentioned me to the Duke at all."

"Perhaps it would have been wiser," the Squire conceded candidly, "but Cransford is so proud of anything that bringskudosto the county, and he could no more leave you out than he could the Institute itself. Well, we mustn't force you. Think it over, think it over. I must be off. No, don't you go. Stay and have tea with the ladies;" and the Squire, who, as has been previously mentioned, was no fool, left his daughter to entertain his guest.

Janet was working at a piece of embroidery, and she went on working in silence for a minute or two. Then she looked up and said:

"Tora Smith was here this morning. She'll be very disappointed at your refusal to write for her meeting."

"Miss Smith has no claim on me," said Dale stiffly. He had not forgotten Tora's injurious suspicions. "Besides, one doesn't do such things simply for the asking—not even if it's a lady who asks."

"You know, I don't think anybody ought to ask—no, not princes; and I hope you won't do what Lord Cransford wants merely because you're asked."

"Your father says I ought."

"Papa wants you to do it very much."

"And I should like to do what he wants."

"I should like you to do what he wants, but not because he wants it," said Janet.

Dale turned round to her and said abruptly:

"I'll do it, if you want me to."

Now this was flattering, and Janet could not deny that it gave her pleasure; but she clung to her principles.

"I don't want it—in that sense," she answered. "I should be glad if it seemed to you a right thing to do; but I should be sorry if you did it, unless it did."

"You will not let me do it for you?"

"No," she answered, smiling.

"You have no pleasure in obedience?"

"Oh, well, only in willing obedience," said she, with a smile.

"It would be very willing—even eager."

"The motive would not be right. But how absurd! I believe——"

"Well, what?"

"That you mean to do it, and are trying to kill two birds with one stone."

"You don't really think that, Miss Delane?"

"No, of course not. Only you were becoming so serious."

"May I not be serious?"

"It isn't serious to offer to take important steps because it would please a girl."

"Aren't you rather contradicting yourself? You called that becoming serious just now."

"If I am, it is a privilege we all have."

"Girls, you mean? Well, you refuse to help me?"

"Entirely."

"Even to counteract Miss Smith's illicit influence?"

"I shall trust to your own sense of propriety."

Dale walked home, grievously puzzled. A small matter may raise a great issue, and he felt, perhaps without full reason, that he was at the parting of the ways. "No more Kings! No more Priests!" Or "An Ode to H. R. H. the Duke of Mercia on his visit to Denborough"! Dale ruefully admitted that there would be ground for a charge of inconsistency. Some would talk of conversion, some of tergiversation; he could not make up his mind which accusation would be the more odious. There was clearly nothing for it but absolute neutrality; he must refuse both requests. Janet would understand why; of course she would, she must; and even if she did not, what was that to him? The throne above politics!—that must be a mere sophism; there could not be anything in that. No doubt this young Prince was not morally responsible for the evils, but he personified the system, and Dale could not bow the knee before him. If it had been possible—and as he went he began idly to frame words for an ode of welcome. An idea or two, a very happy turn, came into his head; he knew exactly the tone to take, just how far to go, just the mean that reconciles deference to independence. He had the whole thing mapped out before he recalled to himself the thought that he was not going to write at all, and ashe entered his own garden he sighed at the necessary relinquishing of a stately couplet. There was no doubt that work of that class opened a new field, a hitherto virgin soil, to his genius. It was a great pity.

In the garden, to his surprise, he came on Arthur Angell. "What brings you here, Arthur?" he said. "Delighted to see you, though."

Arthur explained that he had run down at Nellie Fane's bidding. Nellie had written her letter of warning about the Doctor's conspiracy, but, having thus relieved her mind, had straightway forgotten all about her letter, and it had lain unposted in her pocket for a week. Then she found it, and sent Arthur off in haste to stop the mischief.

"It's awfully kind of Nellie," said Dale; "but I don't suppose it would have been of any use, and anyhow it's too late now."

"Yes, so Phil told me."

"A dirty trick, isn't it?"

"Well, I suppose it's rather rough on you," said Arthur, struggling between principles and friendship, and entirely suppressing his own privity to the said dirty trick.

"You'll stay?"

"I've got no clothes."

"Oh, Wilson will see to that. Come in."

Philip met them at the door.

"I've a message for you, Dale," he said. "The Mayor has been here."

"And what may the Mayor want?"

"The Mayor came as an ambassador. Hebore a resolution from the Town Council, a unanimous resolution (absenteJohnstone owing to pressure in the bookselling trade), begging you to accede to the Lord Lieutenant's request and write a poem for the Duke."

"Hang the Town Council!" exclaimed Dale. "I wonder why nobody will let me alone!"

Then he remembered that Miss Delane had been almost ostentatious in her determination to let him alone. If he wrote, they could not say that he had written to please her. But he was not going to write. True, it would have been a good revenge on the Doctor, and it would have pleased——

"Shall you do the ode?" asked Philip Hume.

"Certainly not," answered Dale in a resolute tone.

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