Chapter XXVI

0264m

I could see that the curtain was down and the performance stopped; that many people had risen in their places and apparently were calling for the assistance of the police, and that from the number of liveries in the mêlée the management were taking the rioters seriously in hand. In another moment two or three of these officials broke loose and bore down upon me with a shout of “That's 'im!”

“Bolt, Juggins!” cried Mr. Scarlett. “We'll give you a start.”

The two intrepid gentlemen placed themselves between me and my pursuers. I stood my ground for a minute, but seeing that nothing could withstand the onset of my foes, and that Mr. White was already on the floor, I turned and fled. The chase was hot. I dashed down a flight of stairs, and then, by a happy chance, saw a door marked “private.” Through it I ran and was making my way I knew not whither, but certainly in forbidden territory, when I was confronted by an agitated stranger. I stopped, and would have raised my hat had it not been so tightly jammed upon my head.

The man looked at me for a moment, and then seemed to think he recognized my face.

0266m

“You are Mr. Neptune?” said he.

“You have named me!” I cried, opening my arms and embracing him effusively.

“I am afraid you got into the crowd,” said he, withdrawing, in some embarrassment, I thought. “I suppose that is why you are late.”

“That is the reason,” I replied, feeling mystified, indeed, but devoutly thankful that he did not recognize me as the hunted Juggins.

“Well,” he said, “you had better go on at once, if you don't mind. There is rather a disturbance, I am afraid, and we have lowered the curtain; but perhaps your appearance may quiet them.”

“My appearance?” I asked, glancing down at my torn overcoat, and wondering what sedative effect such a scarecrow was likely to have. Besides, I had appeared and it had not quieted them; though this, of course, he did not know.

“I mean,” he answered, “that the nature of your performance is so absorbing that we hope it may rivet attention somewhat.”

A light dawned upon me. I now remembered the bill outside the theatre. I was the “Amphibious Marvel!” Well, it would not do for the intrepid Juggins to refuse the adventure. For the honor of Jesus College I must endeavor to “break all records.” My one hope was that, as it was to be my first appearance, anything strange in the nature of my performance might be received merely as a diverting novelty.

“The stage is set for you,” said my unknown friend. “How long will it take you to change?”

“Change?” I replied. “This is the costume in which I always perform.”

He looked surprised, but also relieved that there would be no further delay, and presently I found myself upon a huge stage, the curtain down in front, and no one there but myself and my conductor. What was I expected to do? I was sufficiently expert at gymnastics to make some sort of show upon the trapeze without more than a reasonable chance of breaking my neck. But there was no sign of any such apparatus. Was I, then, a strong man? I had always had a grave suspicion that those huge cannon-balls and dumb-bells were really hollow, and, in any case, I could at least roll them about. But there were neither cannonballs nor dumb-bells. No, there was nothing but a high and narrow box of glass.

“It is all right, you will find,” said my conductor, coming up to this.

I also approached it and gave a gasp.

The box was filled with water—water about six feet deep!

“I shouldn't care to dive into it myself,” he said, jocularly. “But I suppose it is all a matter of practice.”

“Do I dive in—from the roof?” I asked, a little weakly, I fear.

“Did you mean to?” he replied, evidently perturbed lest their arrangements had been insufficient.

“Not to-night,” I said, with a sigh of relief. “But to-morrow night—ah, yes; you will see me then!”

He regarded me with undisguised admiration.

“You are all ready?” he asked.

“Quite,” I replied.

We went into the wings and the curtain rose.

“I time you, of course,” said my friend, taking out his watch. “You have stayed under five minutes in Paris, haven't you?”

I had discovered my vocation at last. The Amphibious Neptune was a record-breaking diver.

“Ten,” I answered, carelessly, and with such an air as I thought appropriate to my reputation I walked onto the stage.

“Gentlemen and ladies!” shouted my friend, coming up to the foot-lights. “This is the world-famed Neptune, who has repeatedly stayed under water for periods of from eight to ten minutes! He is rightly styled—”

But at this point his voice was lost in such an uproar as, I flatter myself, greets the appearance of few Umpire artistes. “Good old Juggins!” they shouted. “Good old Juggins!” I was recognized now, and I must live up to my reputation as the high-spirited representative of Jesus College, Oxford.

0269m

Kissing my hand to my cheering audience I mounted the steps placed against the end of the tank, and with a magnificent splash leaped into the water—I cannot strictly say I dived, for, on surveying the constricted area of my aquatic operations, it seemed folly to risk cracking a valuable head.

Unluckily, I had omitted in my enthusiasm to remove even my top-coat, and either in the air or the water (I cannot say which) I drove my foot through the torn lining. Conceive now the situation into which my recklessness had plunged me—entangled in my overcoat at the bottom of six feet of water, struggling madly to free myself, with only a sheet of transparent glass between me and as dry a stage as any in England; drowning ridiculously in clear view of a full and enthusiastic house. My struggles can only have lasted for a few seconds, though to me they seemed longer than the ten minutes I had boasted of, and then—the good God be thanked!—I felt the side of my prison yield to my kicking, and in another moment I was seated in three inches of water, dizzily watching a miniature Niagara sweep the stage and foam over the foot-lights into the panic-stricken orchestra.

“Down with the curtain!” I heard some one cry from behind, but before it had quite descended the Amphibious Marvel had smashed his way out of his tank and leaped into the unwilling arms of the double-bass.

0270m

Ah! that was a night to be remembered—though not, I must frankly admit, to be repeated. Another mêlée with the exasperated musicians; a gallant rescue by Teddy and his friends; a triumphant exit from the Umpire borne on the shoulders of my cheering admirers; all the other events of that stirring night still live in the memory of “Good old Juggins.” To my fellow undergraduates of an evening I dedicate this happy, disreputable reminiscence.

8000

“So you pushed that little snowball from the top? And now it has reached the bottom and become quite large? My faith! how surprising!”

—La Rabide.

9272

T is an afternoon in December, gray and chilly and dark; neither the season nor the hour to exhilarate the heart. I am alone in my room, bending over my writing-table, endeavoring to relieve my depression upon paper.

Since my appearance upon the music-hall stage I have enjoyed the society of my Oxford friends while they remained in town; I have revelled with Teddy; I have had my “burst”; and now the reaction has come. The solace of my most real and intimate friend, Dick Shafthead, is denied me, for he has apparently left London for a time; at any rate, his rooms are shut up and he is not there. No company now but regrets and cynical reflections. A short time ago what bright fancies were visiting me!

“Woman gives and woman takes away,” I said to myself. “But she takes more than she gives!” I felt indeed bankrupt.

0273m

Opening my journal and glancing back over rose-tinted, deluded eulogies, I came to the interrupted entry, “To d'Haricot from d'Haricot.” Ah, that I had profited by my own advice! “Foolish friend, beware!”—but he had not.

I took up my pen and continued the exhortation.

“What is woman? A false coin that passes current only with fools! Art thou a fool, then? No longer!”

Just then came a tap at the door, followed by the comely' face of Aramatilda.

“A lady to see you, sir,” she said.

I started. Could it be—? Impossible!

“Who is she?” I asked, indifferently.

“She didn't give her name, sir.”

“Show her in,” I replied, closing my journal, but repeating its last words to myself.

Again the door opened. I rose from my seat. Did Kate hope to befool me again? No, it was not Kate who entered and said, in a tone of perfect self-possession:

“Are you Mr. d'Haricot?”

She was rather small, she was young—not more than two-and-twenty. She had a very fresh complexion and a pretty, round little face saved from any dolliness by the steadiness of her blue eyes, the firmness of her mouth, and the expression of quiet self-possession. She reminded me of some one, though for the moment I could not think who.

“I am Mr. d'Haricot,” I replied. “And you?”

“I am Aliss Shafthead.”

“Dick's sister!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” she said, with a pleasant glimpse of smile that accentuated the resemblance. “Have you seen him lately?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

She gave me a quick, clear glance as if to test my truth, and then, as though she were satisfied, went on in the same quiet and candid voice:

“I tried to find my cousin Teddy Lumme, but, as he was out, I have taken the liberty of calling on you, because I know you are one of Dick's friends—and because—” She hesitated, though without any embarrassment, and gave me the same kind of glance again—just such a look as Dick would have given, translated into a woman's eye.

“Is anything the matter?” I asked, quickly. “Yes,” she said. “He has left home and we don't know where he is.”

“What has happened?” I exclaimed.

“He has told you of Agnes Grey, I think?” she answered.

“He has given me his confidence.”

“Dick came home a few days ago, and became engaged to her. My father was angry about it and now they have gone away.”

She told me this in the same quiet, straightforward way, looking straight at me in a manner more disconcerting than any suggestion of reproach. It was I—I, the misanthrope, the contemner of woman, who had urged him, exhorted him to this reckless deed! And evidently she knew what my counsel had been. I could have shot myself before her eyes if I had thought that step would have mended matters.

“Then they have run away together!” I cried. “They have gone away,” she repeated, quietly, “and, I suppose, together. I am afraid my father was very hard on them both.”

“And doubtless you have learned what ridiculous advice I gave him?”

“Yes,” she replied, “Dick told me.”

“And now you abhor me.”

“I should be much obliged if you would help me to find them,” she answered, still keeping her steady eyes upon my distracted countenance.

“I ask your pardon,” I said. “It is help you want, not my regrets—though, I assure you, I feel them. Have you been to his chambers?”

“Yes, I went and knocked, but I could get no answer.”

“Perhaps they—I should say he—has returned by now. I shall go at once and see.”

“Thank you,” she replied, still quietly, but with a kinder look in her eyes.

“And you—will you wait here?”

“Oh, I shall come, too, of course,” she said, and somehow I found this announcement pleasing.

As we drove together towards the Temple, I learned a few more particulars of Dick's escapade. When he told his father his intention of marrying Miss Grey, the indignation of the baronet evidently knew no bounds, for even his daughter admitted that he had been less than courteous to poor Agnes, and what he had said to Dick was discreetly left to my imagination. This all happened yesterday; Agnes had retired, weeping, to her bedroom, and Dick, swearing, towards the stables. The orders he gave the coachman were only discovered afterwards; but his plans were well laid, for it was not till the culprits were missing at dinner that any one discovered they had only waited till darkness fell and then driven straight to the station. No message was left, no clew to their whereabouts. You can picture the state of mind the family were thrown into.

Morning came, but no letter with it, and by the middle of the day Miss Shafthead could stand the suspense no longer, so, in the same business-like fashion as Dick, without a word to her parents, she had started in pursuit. The aunt she proposed to spend the night with was not as yet informed that she was to have a visitor; business first, and till that was accomplished my fair companion was simply letting fate take charge of her. “With fate's permission, I shall assist,” I said to myself.

As we drew near to the Temple, she fell silent, and I felt sure that, despite her air ofsang-froid, her sisterly heart was beating faster.

“Do you think they—I mean he—will have returned?” she said to me, suddenly, as we walked across the quiet court.

“Sooner or later he is sure to be in—if he is in London. May I ask you to say nothing as we ascend the stairs, and to permit me to make the inquiries?”

She gave her consent in a glance, and we tramped up the old wooden staircase till we stopped in silence before Dick's door. These chambers of the Temple are unprovided with any bells or other means of calling the inmates' attention beyond the simple method of knocking. If the heavy outer door of oak be closed, and he away from home, or disinclined to receive you, you may knock all afternoon without getting any satisfaction; and it was the latter alternative I feared. At this juncture I could imagine circumstances under which my friend might prefer to remain undisturbed.

For a moment I listened, and I was sure I could hear a movement inside. Then I knocked loudly. No answer. I knocked again, but still no answer.

“Stay where you are and make no sound,” I whispered to my companion. “Like the badger, he must be drawn.”

0279m

I fumbled at the letter-slit in the door as though I were the postman endeavoring to introduce a packet, and dropped my pocket-book on the floor outside. This I knew to be the habit of these officials when a newspaper proved too bulky. Then, quietly picking up the pocket-book, I descended the stairs with as much noise as possible, till I thought I was out of hearing, when I turned and ran lightly up again. Just as I was quietly approaching the top of the flight I saw the door open and the astonished Dick confront his sister. I stopped.

“Daisy!” he exclaimed, in a tone which seemed to be made up of several emotions.

“Dick!” she replied, her self-control just failing to keep her voice quite steady.

“Was it you who knocked?” he asked, more suspiciously than kindly.

“No, Dick; it was I who look that liberty,” I answered, continuing my ascent.

He turned with a start, for he had not seen me.

“You?” he said, sharply. “It was a dodge, then, to—”

“To induce you to break from cover. Yes, my friend, to such extremities have you driven us.”

“In what capacity have you come?” he asked, with ominous coolness.

“As friends,” I replied. “Friends who have come to place ourselves at your service; haven't we, Miss Shafthead?”

“Yes,” said she, “we are friends. Don't you believe me, Dick?”

“Who sent you?” he asked.

“I came myself.”

“Does my father know?”

“No.”

Dick's manner changed.

“It's very good of you, Daisy. Unfortunately—” here he hesitated in some embarrassment—“unfortunately, I am engaged—I mean I have some one with me.”

At this crisis Miss Daisy rose to the occasion in a way that surprised me, even though I had done little but admire her spirit since we met.

“Of course,” she replied, with a smile; “I was sure you would have, Dick, and I want to see you both.”

“Come in, then,” he said.

“And I?” I asked, with a becoming air of diffidence.

“As I acted on your advice,” he answered, “you'd better see what you've done.”

We entered, and there, standing in the lamplight, we saw the cause of all this mischief. She was a little, slender figure with a pretty little oval face in which two very soft brown eyes made a mute appeal for sympathy. There was something about her air, something about her demure expression, something about the simplicity of her dress and the Puritan fashion in which she wore her hair, that gave one an indescribably quaint and old-fashioned impression, and this impression was altogether pleasant. When she opened her lips, and in a voice that, I know not how, heightened this effect, and with an expression of sweetness and contrition said, simply: “Daisy, what must you think?” I forgot all my worldly wisdom and was ready, if necessary, to egg her lover on to still more gallant courses Daisy herself, however, capitulated more tardily. She did not, as I hoped, rush into the charming little sinner's arms, but only answered, kindly, indeed, yet as if holding her judgment in reserve:

“I haven't heard what has happened yet.”

I gave a sign to Dick to be discreet in answering this inquiry, which he however read as merely calling attention to my presence.

“Oh, let me introduce Mr. d'Haricot—Miss Grey,” he said.

So she was still Aliss Grey—and they had fled together nearly four-and-twenty hours ago. I repeated my signal to be careful in making admissions.

“Where have you been?” said Daisy.

“I have some cousins—some cousins of my father's—in London,” Agnes answered. “I am staying with them.”

“And you are living here?” I said to Dick.

“Where else?” he replied, with a surprise that was undoubtedly genuine.

“The arrangement is prudence itself,” I pronounced. “You see, Miss Shafthead, that these young people have tempered their ardor with a discretion we had scarcely looked for. I do not know what you intend to do, but, for myself, I kiss Miss Grey's hand and place my poor services at her disposal!”

And I proceeded to carry out the more immediately possible part of this resolution without further delay.

The little mademoiselle was evidently affected by my act of salutation, while Dick exclaimed, with great cordiality:

“Good old monsieur; by Jove! you're a sportsman!”

Still his sister hung back; in fact, my impetuosity seemed to have rather a damping effect upon her.

“What are you going to do, Dick?” she asked.

“We are going to get married.”

“What, at once?”

“Almost immediately.”

“Without father's consent?”

“After what he said to us both—to Agnes in particular—do you think I am going to trouble about his opinion?”

“But, Dick, supposing we can get him to change his mind?”

“Who is going to change it for him? for he won't do it himself—I know the governor well enough for that.”

“If I try to, will you wait for a little?”

“It's no use,” said Dick.

“Wait till we see, Dick!”

“Yes, we shall wait,” said Agnes. “Dick, you will wait, won't you?”

“If you insist,” replied Dick, though not very cordially.

“Then you will try?” said Agnes.

Daisy came to her side, took her hand, and kissed her at last.

“Oh yes, I'll do my very best!” she exclaimed.

There followed one of those little displays of womanly affection that are so charming yet so tantalizing when one stands outside the embraces and thinks of the improvement that might be effected by a transposition of either of the actors.

“What will you say?” asked Dick, in a minute.

“I don't quite know,” replied Daisy, candidly. “I suppose I had better say that—”

She paused, as if considering.

“Say that this is one of the matches made in heaven!” I cried. “Say that not even a father has the right to stand between two people who love each other as these do!”

“By gad! Daisy,” said Dick, “you ought to take the monsieur with you. I don't believe there'd be any resisting him.”

“Let me come!” I exclaimed; “I claim the privilege. My rash counsels helped to cause this situation; permit me to try and make the atonement!”

Daisy looked at me, I am bound to say, rather doubtfully.

“He has a wonderful way with him,” urged Dick. “We can't do that kind of eloquent appeal-to-the-feelings business in England, but it fetches us if it's properly managed. You see, I don't want to fall out with the governor. I know, Daisy, what a good sort he has been—but I am not going to give up Agnes.”

“If you think Mr. d'Haricot would really do any good—” said Daisy.

“He can but try,” I broke in.

“Please let him,” said Agnes, softly.

Ah, I had not shown her my devotion in vain!

“All right,” said Daisy.

And so it was arranged that we were to start upon our embassy next morning.

8000

“High Toryism, High Churchism, High Farming, and old port forever!”

—CORLETT.

9285

HAT evening, when I came to meditate in solitude upon the appeal I purposed to make, my confidence began to evaporate in the most uncomfortable manner. Was I quite certain that I should be pleading a righteous cause? Ah, yes; I had gone too far now to question my cause; but how would my eloquence be received? Would it “fetch if properly managed”? I tried to picture the baronet, and the more my fancy laid on the colors, the more damping the prospect became.

“Ah, well; Providence must guide me,” I said to myself at last. And in a way that I am sufficiently old-fashioned—superstitious—call it what you will—to think more than mere coincidence, Providence responded to my faith. I could scarcely guess that my friend, the old General, who came in to smoke a pipe with me, was an agent employed by Heaven, but so he proved.

0286m

“I want your advice,” I said. “What should I say, what should I do, under the following perplexing circumstances?”

And, without giving him any names, I told him the story of Dick.

“Difficult business, mossoo, delicate affair and that sort of thing,” he observed, when I had finished. “You say your friend is a pretty obstinate young fellow?”

“Dick Shafthead is obstinacy itself,” I replied, letting his name escape by a most fortunate slip of the tongue.

“Shafthead!” said the General. “By Jove! Any relation to Sir Philip Shafthead?”

“Since you know his name, and can be trusted not to repeat it, I may as well say you that Sir Philip is the stern father in question. Do you know him?”

“Knew his other son, Major Shafthead. He is the heir, isn't he?”

“Yes,” I said. “Dick is the second son.”

“Ever met Tommy Shafthead—as we called him—the Major, I mean?”

“No; he is stationed abroad, I believe.”

“Heard abouthismarriage?”

“No,” I replied. “Dick has seldom mentioned him.”

“I wonder if he knows,” said the General.

“What?” I asked.

“About Tommy's marriage.”

“Is there a mystery?”

“Well,” said the General, “it's a matter that has been kept pretty quiet; but in case it may be any good to you to know, I might as well tell you. Tommy was in my old regiment; that's how I know all about it. When he was only a subaltern he got mixed up with a girl much beneath him in station. His friends tried to get him out of it, but he was like your friend, pig-headed as the devil. He married her privately, lived with her for a year, found he'd made a fool of himself, and separated for good.”

“They were divorced?” I asked.

“No such luck,” said the General. “He can't get rid of her. She's behaving herself properly for the sake of getting the title, and naturally she's not going to divorce him. So that's what comes of marrying in haste, mossoo. Not that there isn't a good deal to be said for a young fellow who has—er—a warm heart and wants to do the right thing by the girl, and so forth. I am no Chesterfield, mossoo; right's right and wrong's wrong all the world over, but—er—there are limits, don't you know.”

“Has Major Shafthead any family?” I inquired.

“No,” said the General.

“Then Dick will succeed to the baronetcy one day?”

“Or his son.”

“Ah,” I reflected, “I see now why Sir Philip is so stern. He would not have a girl he dislikes the mother of future baronets, and he will not allow the younger son to follow, as he thinks, in the elder's steps.”

At first sight this seemed only to increase my difficulties; but as I thought more over it, my spirits began to rise. Yes, I might make out a good case for Dick out of this buried story.

“Well, good-night, mossoo,” said the old boy, rising. “Good luck to you.”

“And many thanks to you, General.”

The next morning broke very cold and gray. We were well advanced in December, and the frost was making us his first visit for the winter; indeed, it was cold enough to give Miss Daisy the opportunity of looking charming in a fur coat when I met her at the station. Dick came to see us off, and I must admit that I felt more responsibility than I quite liked in seeing the cheerful confidence he reposed in me.

“It is but a chance that I can do anything,” I reminded him. “I may fail.”

“No fear,” he replied. “I expect a pardon by return of post. By-the-way, we got the manor of Helmscote in Edward the Third's time—Edward the Third, remember—and the baronetcy after Blenheim. The governor doesn't object to be reminded of that kind of thing if you do it neatly. But you know the trick.”

“I should rather depend on your sister's eloquence,” I suggested.

“Oh, she's like me; can't stand on her hind legs and catch cake,” laughed Dick. “We are plain English.”

0290m

“Not so very plain,” I said to myself, glancing at my travelling companion's fresh little face nestling in a collar of fur.

She was very silent this morning, and I could now see that the experiment of taking down an advocate inspired her with considerably less confidence than it had Dick.

“Confess the truth, Miss Shafthead,” I said to her, at last. “You fear I shall only make bad into worse.”

“I don't know what you will do,” she replied, with a smile that was rather nervous than encouraging.

“Command me, then; I shall say what you please, or hold my tongue, if you prefer it.”

“Oh no,” she said, “you had better say something—now that you have come with me; only don't be too sentimental, please.”

“I shall talk turnips till I see my opportunity; then I shall observe coldly that Richard is an affectionate lad in spite of his faults.”

Daisy laughed.

“I think I hear you,” she replied.

Well, at least, my jest served to make her a little more at her ease, and we now fell to planning our arrival. She had left a note before she started for town, saying only that she would be away for the night, but giving no intimation of when she might return, so that we expected no carriage at the station. This, we decided, was all the better. We should walk to Helmscote, attract as little notice as possible on entering the house, and then she would find out how the land lay before even announcing my presence; at least, if it were possible to keep me in the background so long.

“My father is rather difficult sometimes,” she said.

“Hasty?” I asked.

“I'm afraid so.”

“He may, then, decline to receive me?”

“It is quite possible.”

The adventure began to assume a more and more formidable aspect. I agreed that great circumspection was required.

At last we alighted at a little way-side station in the heart of the country. We were the only travellers who descended, and when we had come out into a quiet road, and watched the train grow smaller and smaller, and rumble more and more faintly till the arms of the signals had all risen behind it, and the shining steel lines stretched still and uninhabited through the fields, we saw no sign of life beyond a cawing flock of rooks. The sun was bright, the hoar-frost only lay under the shadow of the hedge-rows, and not a breath of wind stirred the bare branches of the trees. After a word of protest I took the fur coat over my arm, and Daisy's bag in my hand, and we set out at a brisk pace to cover the two miles before us.

Presently a sleepy little village appeared ahead of us; before we reached it my guide turned off to the left.

“It is a little longer round this way,” she said, “but I am afraid the people in the village might—well—”

“Exactly,” I replied. “We are a secret embassy.”

It was a narrow lane we were now in, winding in the shade of high beech-trees and littered with their brown cast leaves. Whether it was the charm of the place, or that we instinctively delayed the crisis now that it was so near, I cannot say, but gradually our pace slackened.

“I am afraid they will be rather anxious about me,” said Daisy.

“If they value you as they ought,” I replied.

She smiled a little, and then, in a minute, we rounded a corner, and she said, “That is Helmscote we see through the trees.”

I looked, and saw a pile of chimneys and gables close before us and just a little distance removed from the lane. Along that side now ran a high, ancient-looking wall with a single door in it, opposite the house. Evidently this unostentatious postern was a back entrance, and the gates must open into some other road.

My fellow-ambassador paused and glanced in both directions, but there was no sign of any one but ourselves.

“I think it will be best if I leave you in the garden,” she said, “while I go in and find mother.”

“Yes, I think it will be wise,” I answered.

She took out a key and opened the door in the wall, and I found myself in an old flower-garden screened by a high hedge of evergreens at the farther end.

“Give me my coat and bag,” she said. “Many thanks for carrying them. Now just wait here. I shall be as quick as I can.”

I lit a cigar and began to pace the gravel path, keeping myself concealed behind the bushes as far as I could. Decidedly this had a flavor of adventure, and the longer I paced, the more did a certain restlessness of nerves grow upon me. I took out my watch. She had been gone ten minutes. Well, after all, I could scarcely expect her to return so soon as that. I paced and smoked again, and again took out my watch. Twenty minutes now, and no sign of my fellow-ambassador. I began to grow impatient and also to feel less the necessity for caution. No one had discovered me so far and no one was likely to; why should I not explore this garden a little farther? I ventured down to the farther end, till I stood behind the hedge. It was charmingly quiet and restful and sunny, with high trees looking over the walls and rooks flapping and cawing about their tops, and a glimpse of the house beyond. This glimpse was so pleasing that I thought I should like to see more, and, spying a garden roller propped against the wall and a niche in the stone above it, I gave a wary look round, and in a moment more had scrambled up till my feet were in the niche and my head looking over the top.

Below me I saw a grass terrace and a broad walk, and beyond these the mansion of Helmscote. No wonder Dick showed a touch of pride and affection when (on very rare occasions, I admit) he had alluded to his home. It was an old brick house of the Tudor period, though some parts were apparently more ancient than that and had been built, I should say, by the first Shafthead who had settled there. The colors—the red with diagonal designs of black bricks through it, the stone of the mullioned windows, the old tiles on the roof, the gray of the ancient portions, even, I fancied, the green ivy—had all been softened and harmonized by time and by weather till the whole house had become a rich scheme that would have defied the most cunning painter to imitate it.

“I know Dick better since I have seen his home,” I said to myself. “And his sister? Yes, I think I know her better, too, though not so well as I should like to. Pardieu! what has become of her?”

“Well, sir,” said a voice behind me, “what, are you doing there?”

Back to IndexNext