"Bad luck, bad luck, bad luck--there's my life's history in one word. The day I launched myself on the world misfortune established herself at my elbow, and my most persistent endeavours have failed to oust her from that position. Only so far as to allow me perfect health from first to last has she relented. Yet even that has had its disadvantages. It has whetted an appetite, already omnivorous, for the luxuries of life--luxuries for the acquirement of which the means have ever been withheld. How I have pursued them--how they have eluded me! It is this quest for luxury, this craving to satisfy an appetite abnormal and insatiable, that has brought upon me so much of trouble. I have had the worst of luck. Ten thousand a year might have made an honest man of me. But I defy St. Paul himself to have stood in my place with my mind, my body, my soul, and not have done the things that I have done. He would have been another Michael Trall. I do not say I could ever have been like St. Paul. That is another matter. My passion has been the cakes and ale of life--I have never had enough of them; I could not have enough of them. But I was not gifted even with the means for their procuration in a moderate degree. So I don't blame myself. I cannot blame myself. No one can justly blame me. It is nature that is responsible for what I am--for what I have done. Blame her, or whosoever, or whatsoever inspires her to bestow upon a luckless man passions strong and undeniable--passions overwhelming and senses insatiable, while denying him the wherewithal to gratify them. That is the most refined torture. I can conceive nothing more ubiquitous, nothing more merciless.
"Well, that is what has ruined me.
"I was unlucky at the start. I was the second son of a Pharisee, provincial but respectable. So I suffered from the amiable custom of primogeniture. My brother Jerry, two years only my senior, received a home and lands and a thousand pounds a year. He did not receive over much in the way of brains. I, in this latter respect, received, perhaps, more than my share, with senses to match. With such gifts, and some five hundred pounds all told, I was pushed off to sink or swim. I just kept afloat. First of all I lost all my money in a most determined--and, I think, thoroughly well conceived--attempt to double it on the card-table. It was pure misfortune that it proved inferior in practice. I was obliged then to borrow from Jerry. He was a stay-at-home ass. I did not approve of his way of life at all; but I had no option but to borrow from him. Again misfortune dogged me, for somehow or other--it passes my recollection now--I got into trouble about somebody else's name on a cheque. I remember those concerned made a great fuss about it, altogether out of proportion to the circumstances; and I remember distinctly how disgusted I was at the puritanical island upon which it was my lot to be cast, so I decided to leave it. For some time after that I lived on the Continent--upon my wits, which were duly sharpened in the process. It was hard that this should prove to my disadvantage, but it did, for at Baden-Baden my misfortune culminated in a row at the tables. I was utterly disgusted, but it was wiser that I should leave so I dropped South over the Equator and turned up at the Cape in a new character, and with a brand new name. Those were prehistoric days, and the South African millionaire had not yet invented himself. The Boers disapproved of my more civilized ways with the ace, and, as I could not repress my repugnance for their psalm-singing barbarisms, I could not make myself at home there. It seemed as if a resting-place was ever to be denied me. But I plucked up courage, and in a rackety ocean tramp, carrying a cargo of rats and cockroaches, I sailed for Bombay. I had a very few pounds, but no little experience. Arrived there, I was obliged to make my living somehow. It was a hand-to-mouth existence, and I saw no prospect before me. I had a certain amount of luck with my dice, though on one or two occasions aspersions were cast upon their equilibrium. 'Give a dog a bad name, and hang him!' seemed to hold good even here. I was driven North. Then, Heaven knows why, Fortune gave me her hand for once and led me to Kikat, the kingdom of one Rao Singha.
"This petty prince was an up-to-date Hindoo, with an English army leader and a European physician. Bellairs--he was the leader--proved to be a fool, with no brains and some scruples. Dr. Carson, on the contrary, possessed some brains, but was quite unfettered by scruples. I saw that I should have to adapt myself to the idiosyncrasies of each. I did so, and a sort of triune partnership for the making of our several and joint fortunes was the result. Singha was sufficiently acute, but I beat him on his own ground. He loved me like a brother--indeed, I did all I could to civilize him. I taught him cards, introduced him to billiards, and instructed him in the orderly and methodical compilation of a betting-book. I don't say that, one way and another, I did not profit by him; for I did. But the profits were inconsiderable, and in no way sufficient to satisfy me. Besides, I was conscious of certain ambitions then. I felt that this great state treasure, not to speak of the command of some two million heathen, would be much more rationally dealt with were they in my hands. In a word, I coveted the viziership of Kikat But the priests were one and all against me. Moreover, there was an English missionary there, named Manners Brock, who seemed to be mistrustful of me. I could make nothing of him. In his moral and religious convictions he was absolutely rigid--a most unsympathetic soul, I thought him. It soon became plain to me that nothing short of re-adjustment of the existing political system would clear these obstacles from my path. My chance came with the Mutiny. By carefully playing upon Singha's ambition and feudal pride, I managed to get him mixed up in it. At my instigation he made certain treaties with the Delhi princes, and wrote certain letters professing hostility to the H.E.I.C. Then he watched for a favourable opportunity of declaring himself. This opportunity never came, for the Rao, over-persuaded by Brock, delayed action until it was too late. The Mutiny smouldered out when Delhi was captured, and I--unlucky once more--reverted to the post of idle companion and powerless buffoon, with the priests and Brock ever on the alert to ruin my credit with Singha. It became a choice between my downfall and the Rao's; so, of course, I chose the Rao's.
"To strengthen my scheme I appended Carson's and Bellairs' names to some of the letters, and thereby so implicated them in the Rao's conspiracy that, for their own safety, they were compelled to join me. Carson was willing enough to throw in his lot with me, but Bellairs made some absurd objections, until I was obliged to show him how completely his life and honour were at my discretion. When matters were thus arranged I saw Singha. I told him plainly that I should have no option but to send the letters to the Governor-General, unless he gave me the three diamonds which were known as the treasures of Kikat. He blustered a good deal, but in the end I gained my point. Singha gave me the diamonds. The largest I kept to myself, the other two I handed to Bellairs and Carson. All went smoothly until the Rao made trouble by confessing his position to Brock. The missionary, with the usual meddlesomeness of his class, made tracks for Calcutta, declaring his intention to inform the Government of my plot and protect Singha. He was afraid of me, I fancy, for he slipped off without my knowledge. I saw that his denunciation meant unpleasantness, so I followed close on his heels, met him, and argued the question with him. I did my best to persuade him to my way of thinking, to show him how utterly foolish and misguided he was, but all to no purpose. He was hopelessly unreasonable, so I killed him. There was nothing else for it.
"I returned to Kikat, but with the utmost caution. This was necessary because the Rao, being now in possession of the papers which I had directed were to be sent to him, might be plotting vengeance. I then discovered he was dead. On noticing the names of Bellairs and Carson appended to the papers, he had become unruly, so Carson had poisoned him, and with Bellairs had fled. I managed to come across the fugitives, and together we waited events.
"As it happened, the new king was afraid lest his father's conspiracy should cost him his throne, so he hushed up the matter, and gave out that Singha had died of apoplexy. As the danger from this quarter was over, we three could now enjoy the fruits of our success. I told Bellairs and Carson that I had killed Brock, so there was nothing to be feared from the Government through him. Bellairs returned to England, taking with him both his own diamond and Carson's. The latter had found a rag of a conscience somewhere, since he had murdered the Rao, and talked of the diamond as the 'price of blood.' He refused to take it, and let Bellairs carry it off, although I should have liked it for myself. However, I was quite satisfied with my share, for I sold the diamond for thirty thousand pounds. With this money I went back to Europe, where I married, became the father of a daughter, and altogether had a glorious time. Carson, in a fit of repentance, retired to some Himalayan hermitage, haunted, I suppose, by what is called a guilty conscience. Fool! My shooting of Brock troubled me not in the least.
"But what did trouble me was another run of bad luck. I lost everything. I returned to London, and placed my wife and child in the care of Jerry, who was a bachelor, and could better afford to keep them than I. Then I determined to look up Bellairs, who was now Squire of Casterwell, and horribly prosperous. On making inquiries, I learned that the vicar of the parish was dead, and that the living was in Bellairs' gift. I was terribly weary of wandering, and it occurred to me that such a position would suit me very well; at all events, for a while. It was quite a simple matter for me to impersonate Manners Brock. I had all his papers, and I was well up in the details of his early life, as well as his life in India. The creature had been a confirmed babbler, and had told me everything about himself. I had some trouble with Bellairs at first, but he soon saw it was no good. He was desperately jealous of what he called his good name. He had everything to lose; I nothing. So he did the wisest thing he could do, and gave in. I became the Reverend Manners Brock. I had no difficulty in deceiving the old Bishop of the diocese. I had all the papers, and was well up in all the necessary details. The living of itself was a poor one, but of course Bellairs had to alter that. He told me, when I approached this part of the subject, that he had sold the two diamonds for some thirty-eight thousand pounds. Then he, too, indulged in some silly nonsense about the 'price of blood' and so on, which he said had prevented his touching the money. For the last ten years it had been lying in the bank at compound interest, and had now reached something like fifty thousand pounds. I soon settled that. I made him invest the money securely, yet profitably, and pay me the interest. I felt now that I could settle down in comfort to my hardly-earned repose. I had an assured position, a good name, and a most comfortable income. There were times, of course, when I grew weary of so much respectability; but then, all I had to do was to assume some disguise and run up to London for a few days and enjoy myself. But I never went near Jerry. My wife was dead, and he looked after my daughter. So, as the Reverend Manners Brock, my life, if quiet, was pleasant enough. For years all went well, until one day there came a letter from Carson regretting that he had surrendered his diamond, and suggesting that his son--he had married in the mean time--should marry Olive Bellairs, and that the proceeds of the diamond should be given to the young people on their wedding-day. At first Bellairs refused; but Carson replied threatening exposure--more than that, he plainly gave Bellairs to understand that he would accuse him of Rao Singha's murder. For the sake of his jealously-guarded name, Bellairs was forced to yield. But he wrote to Carson telling him how, in the person of the Rev. Manners Brock, I had become vicar of Casterwell, and how he had been obliged to pay me the interest on the money. I did not wish to be selfish, but naturally I refused to give up my income, so in the end I compromised the matter. It was arranged that I should have the interest until the marriage took place, when I was to surrender it. As this could not be for twenty years I agreed to the arrangement, provided that if it did not take place the money should revert to me. Bellairs made a will to this effect. Carson insisted that the fifty thousand should be settled on his son, with a discretionary clause that he should pay one thousand a year to his wife. I did not know at the time--though I learned it later--that Bellairs had left a letter for his daughter imploring her to marry Angus, as he feared, did she not, that Dr. Carson would make known the truth, and thus tarnish his memory. So-the matter was arranged.
"The years slipped by, and Bellairs died. Then Carson wrote to me that he had told his son the story, keeping back, however, his own guilt of Singha's murder. He had also put the story on paper, though in doing so he had carefully refrained from connecting me, as Brock, with Michael Trall. This account, he intimated, he was sending by his son to me, so that I might, if necessary, use it to force Olive into the marriage. I refused so to further his desires. Angus, his son, was to denounce me, and to accuse me of the murder of Brock. Needless to say, I was greatly alarmed at the existence of this document, and by the knowledge that young Carson had it in his power to ruin me. Even when Dr. Carson died I was not reassured, as I still knew that Angus was in possession of the document and the story. The first could not ruin me, since my identity with the Brock of Casterwell was not shown; but if Angus proved difficult to deal with, it might be very awkward for me. To make myself more comfortable I resolved to see Angus before he arrived at Casterwell. I should then know, at all events, how he was disposed towards me. Mrs. Purcell's letter, which had been shown to me by Miss Slarge, plainly hinted that Angus was a religious prig, and I foresaw that he might not prove so easy to manage as his father had been. From the letter I also learned the name of the steamer in which Angus was coming to England. Shortly before thePharaoharrived I repaired to London in disguise, and inquired at the office when the liner was expected at the docks. On obtaining this information I went down to wait for her. I wore shabby clothes and a false black beard.
"Of course, I was not aware that Major Semberry was in any way connected with Drabble, although, from Mrs. Purcell's letter, I knew that he acted as bear-leader to Angus. When the steamer arrived I mixed with the crowd on deck, and managed to have Carson pointed out to me. I recognized him easily from his resemblance to his father. When he left the boat with Semberry I followed them, still disguised, to Athelstane Place. I determined to take the first opportunity of speaking to Angus. I waited for some time, but they did not come out. I realized that it might be some considerable time--perhaps days--before I found the opportunity I wished for. See him I would, and that alone. While hanging round the house I saw a man--it must have been Drabble disguised as Hain--but at the moment I failed to recognize him. I saw also the housekeeper. She was a stranger to me. These two were always about the place, although Semberry had left, and I was beginning to despair of ever seeing Angus alone. At last one evening they both left the house together, and I, having seen them well out of the way, walked up to the door and rang the bell. Angus answered it himself, and when I said I was Mr. Brock of Casterwell (for I had put my false beard in my pocket) he at once asked me to walk upstairs. In the drawing-room I had an interview with him, and a stormy one it proved. He was a stern, religious young man, and he declared that he intended to tell Olive the truth, to pay back the money to the Indian Government, and to denounce me as Brock's murderer. He also informed me that he had the document securely concealed, as his father, having repented of writing it, had tried to regain possession of it. To prevent his doing so, Angus had placed it in the secret drawer of his chest. I implored him not to ruin me--indeed, I offered to give up all claim to the money. I even went on my knees to him, but all in vain. He was adamant, and insisted that I should be exposed as an impostor and a murderer. Then, in my turn, I threatened him. I told him that if he denounced me I would reveal his father's sin. He did not know the truth, and asked me what I meant. When he heard that his father had murdered Singha he fainted, as he generally did when violently excited, by reason of his weak heart. This I knew from Mrs. Purcell's letter. I was quite determined that, as I had him at my mercy, he should not live to ruin me. I looked about for a weapon to kill him, and saw the wool-work left by Mrs. Arne with the knitting-needles in it. I opened his shirt as he lay insensible on the sofa, and pierced him to the heart with one of the needles. He died very quietly and, I think, without pain. Then I took his studs, wrist-buttons, watch, chain, and money, so that the murder might look like the work of a robber. In the next room I hunted for the portmanteau, and turned it out to see if I could find the document. It was not to be found, nor the sandal-wood chest, so I stole away from the house, leaving Carson dead, and, later on, returned to Casterwell.
"I read in the newspapers how futile had been the search for the assassin. But I could not quite comprehend what they said about the severed hand. I guessed that it had been cut off in order to remove the bangle, because I myself had been unable to remove it owing to the swollen condition of the hand. But I could not understand their motive for taking away the bangle. It was not until I met Boldini, as Carson, in the churchyard that this became quite clear to me. Then, of course, I guessed at once that it was necessary for his impersonation. I almost fainted at the sight of him. He was so like the young man whom I had been obliged to kill. I explained my emotion to Mallow by saying that the son had reminded me so forcibly of his father--my dear old friend. Moreover, I made no doubt that a conspiracy was in progress for obtaining the money. Of course, I could have denounced the imposture there and then, but that might have led to my own undoing; so I decided to let sleeping dogs lie. The money would be lost to me by the marriage, as, on reading her father's letter, which she showed to me, Miss Bellairs was bent on carrying out his wish. Still, now that Angus was dead, no one could identify me with Michael Trall. I was safe, if poor.
"The marriage ceremony I myself performed. So I lost the money by my own act. I was surprised to learn that my daughter Clara had engaged herself as maid to Olive; but, as Mr. Brock, I dared not interfere. I regret now that I did not, for through her I might have found out all about Boldini's scheme. When Mr. and Mrs. Carson (so-called) departed, I discovered that one of the dead man's wrist-buttons had been taken out of my desk. This alarmed me greatly, and I forthwith hid the rest of the jewellery in my bookcase. Afterwards, Margery Drabble confessed to me that she was the culprit; so when her father was killed I told Mallow that he had given it to me. There was no one else to contradict the statement. I was most anxious to find the document in the sandal-wood chest, and thought it might be with Major Semberry. Having gone up to see him I unfortunately met Mallow, but I explained my visit on the plea that I wished the Major to bring about a reconciliation between the young couple. I did not see Semberry, nor did I enter his lodgings. As I was coming away, a cab knocked me down and broke my leg. Then one day, a few weeks later, to my great surprise, Mr. Mallow himself brought me the document. It had been discovered by Lord Aldean in the secret hiding-place of the sandal-wood chest, where Carson had concealed it from his father. Olive, as Mallow informed me, wished to read it. She thought, perhaps, it might throw some light on the sealed letter left by her father. On consideration I promised to show it to her, if, after reading it, I judged it fit for her to read. I found I could do so with safety. Carson had made no mention of Brock's death, and had accused Bellairs of the murder of the Rao Singha, which he himself had committed. True, he spoke in no measured terms of Michael Trall--in fact, he abused him roundly; but since that adventurer was dead, and Brock was alive in his person, such blame of him and praise of me served only to strengthen my position. I resolved, therefore, that Olive should read of her father's guilt, hoping that thereupon she would refuse to touch the money--granting it was recovered from Boldini--in which case it might come to me.
"So the matter stands. All who may know of my identity with Trall are dead. The existing document strengthens my position, and in no way can the death of Carson be traced to me. I shall die in the odour of sanctity, after all; and, indeed, if what the doctor says is true, this cursed accident is going to bring about that event very shortly. Well, if I die, I die; my life has been a hard one, and if I have sinned, I repeat, Nature is to blame, not myself. I have directed by my will that the twenty-one volumes of my cipher diary are to be burnt, since it is only for my own gratification that I have written them. I have no wish to be maligned after my death. Even if the diary is not destroyed I feel safe, seeing that no one can read it save Jerry, and I dare say that he is dead by this time; he must be dead, or Clara would not have gone out to service. I wish, now, I had asked her about him.
"Mr. Mallow is about to marry Olive Bellairs. I wish them joy. I have no ill-feeling against either of them. If I live, I may, of course, get back this money. I don't suppose for one moment that Olive will touch it. If I die--well, there is an end of Michael Trall and his bad luck. But no one will ever know that the revered and beloved Vicar of Casterwell killed Angus Carson. I die a respected member of society, and on my tombstone shall be written words of praise. Many a stone has lied about him who sleeps beneath it, so why not mine? I murdered Brock, I murdered Carson, but their ghosts have never haunted me. I have baffled the world, and I have kept my secret in the face of every danger. Mallow is coming to see me again. Well, let him come, I say. I do not fear him now. The bad days are over for me. Michael Trall has gone into limbo, and Manners Brock, the worthy vicar, has beaten Fortune after all."
Letter from Miss Slarge, of Casterwell, to Mrs. Purcell, at San Remo:--
"The first of January, 189--.
"My Dear Sister,
"I hasten to thank you for your kind invitation to join you at San Remo. I regret to say that it is not possible for me to accept it. Although my book is now rapidly approaching completion, there still remains much to be done in the way of verifying sundry minor details. For example, I am desirous of expanding the statement of Diodorous Siculous, in which he identifies Osiris with the god Bacchus; and that means that I have still many works to read. The impossibility of taking my library with me, alone precludes me from leaving here until my manuscript is finished. I have decided to call my work 'The New Babylon; or, the Migration of Chaldean Idolatry to the Seven-hilled City of the Revelations, according to St. John the Divine,' a title which, I think, sufficiently well explains its meaning. May its publication tend to keep our island free from the superstitions of Semiramis and Peter.
"You will be glad to hear that Olive and Mr. Mallow are now comfortably established at the Manor House. Their serene happiness is pleasant to contemplate. A year has elapsed since the death of Mr. Brock--as I may still call him--and with him is buried the sad story of the past. His brother, Jeremiah, as you know, died six months ago. He lies beside him in the same churchyard. In life they were divided: in death they lie side by side. What a moral your favourite Dr. Johnson would have deduced from this. Mr. Mallow, I think now, was right when he decided not to reveal the truth about our late Vicar. The confusion which would have arisen in our village had he done so, would have been terrible to contemplate. 'What the eye does not see the heart does not grieve at'--that is a wise proverb, my dear Priscilla, and peculiarly applicable in the present instance.
"Lord and Lady Aldean have returned to Kingsholme from their honeymoon--if possible, more in love with one another than ever. I am bound to say that Tui conducts herself with great dignity in her new position; and that, seemingly, Lord Aldean is not without a due sense of his social and marital responsibilities. At the next drawing-room both brides are to be presented to their Sovereign; and I am glad to know that you will be with us for that ceremony. Olive and her husband express themselves very gratefully to you for the judicious manner in which you anticipated any scandal which might have arisen through the chain of incidents connected with the impostor Boldini. As it is, they have been received with open arms by the county, and, of course, no reference is ever made to poor Olive's untoward entanglement. Socially she occupies her proper position, and, as Mrs. Mallow, she is, if anything, more popular than before.
"Mr. Mallow is engaged upon a new novel, which bids fair to secure for him a high position in the world of letters. Olive, I know, would like him to enter the Commons; but, so far, he has shown no inclination in that direction. Lord Aldean has taken his seat in the House of Lords, and, urged by Tui--who has more ambition than I gave her credit for--intends taking an active part in the politics of his country. Mr. and Mrs. Ostergaard have returned to New Zealand well satisfied with the elevation of their daughter to the rank of a peeress. They were delighted with Lord Aldean, and parted from him with great regret. He hopes soon to return their visit, and talks of buying a yacht for the purpose; but this scheme is as yet quite in embryo.
"Of course, you know that Mr. Mallow, with his wife's approval, paid over the twenty thousand pounds to the Indian Government. I believe he told the whole story to the Secretary of the India Office. Indeed, there was no reason why he should not, seeing that every one who was implicated in the death of the Rao Singha has now passed away. The story of Kikat must now be relegated to the domain of legend. For my own part, I never wish to hear of it again. Poor Olive! she was so much relieved to know that her dear father was not guilty of bloodshed. She has put everything else behind her, and feels able to cherish his memory as she loves to do. That is as it should be. I always thought highly of Olive's moral principles.
"Between them, Lord Aldean and Mr. Mallow have arranged Mrs. Drabble's affairs. That is to say, that, as the doctor died absolutely penniless, they allow her a small income. The children have been put to school, and I am glad to say that the discipline is already exercising a most salutary effect upon Margery--pruning, as I may say, the exuberance of her temperament. She is much less flighty, and altogether improved; and I feel confident she will at length emerge into a clever and notable woman. Her tastes lie chiefly in the direction of poetry, and, when she comes here for her holidays, I endeavour myself to assist her as much as I can. As a widow, Mrs. Drabble is infinitely happier than she was as a wife. This is reflected in her home, which now presents something like an orderly appearance. She is full of praises of her benefactors, which, indeed, is just and right.
"I received a short time back some news from India, which, I think, will interest you. It appears that Major Semberry, through financial difficulties, has been obliged to resign his commission. Reports say he has gone to Chili, with the intention of there entering the service of the Republic. It is to be hoped, whether he does this or no that he will take his lesson to heart, and endeavour to mend his ways even at this somewhat tardy stage in his career. You, Priscilla, with your usual acuteness, were perfectly correct in your reading of his character. He is a thoroughly bad man; and he never did a worse thing than when he conspired to ruin the life of our poor, dear Olive. It just shows how far beneath the standard of honour and moral rectitude it is possible for a gentleman to fall.
"There is still one other, and a most extraordinary circumstance, in connection with the conspiracy, that I must tell you. A week ago, Mr. Mallow received a visit from Clara Boldini. She told him that her husband had gambled away every penny of the money with which they decamped. Is it not terrible to think of such depravity? Imagine a young man like that squandering thirty thousand pounds in twelve months in gambling. And not only did the wretched fellow lose his money, but his life. It appears that, directed by the terrible creature whom they call Madame Death-in-Life, two of her followers tracked Boldini to Lima, in Peru, and shot him one night in a gambling den. Their efforts to obtain the tangible fruits of his wickedness were frustrated, of course, through his having squandered them. In their fury at thus being baulked of their spoil, they determined to kill this unhappy Clara. She, however, managed to receive timely warning, and escaped to England. She looks old, and worn, and poor; and seems possessed with the idea that she must ultimately be killed by these ruffians. Mr. Mallow and Olive tried all they could to induce her to remain safe at Casterwell; but she would not, because she said she could not bring more trouble upon them. That was good of the girl, I think. She visited her uncle's grave, and wept bitterly over it. Mr. Mallow did not tell her that her father, too, was buried close by, and I think he was right. It is best that this sad story should pass into oblivion. Clara remained only one night here. She then returned to London. But, before she left, she gave to Olive the famous Indian bangle, which she had removed from the dead body of her husband when he met his death in Lima. Olive keeps it as a curiosity; though she does not need anything to remind her of the troublous times with which it is connected. Where Clara is now we none of us know. We can only hope she will be spared any such violent death as she fears, and that, indeed, some amount of peace may be vouchsafed to her after the stormy life which she has led. How truly thankful should we be, my dear Priscilla, that Providence has cast our lot in pastures so peaceful and so far removed from the strife and turmoil of the world!
"There is really no more news to give you, save that I am well and happy. Neither Olive nor her husband would hear of my leaving the Manor House; so I am still here in my old position. I have great comfort in the thought that Olive is now so well protected by an honourable and upright husband; besides which, the presence of a literary man in the house is a source of unmixed pleasure to me. The friendship between Mr. Mallow and Lord Aldean still stands as firm as ever, cemented only by the fact that their wives are as sisters to one another. We are, indeed, a happy family down here; and it needs only your presence, my dear sister, to compete our joy. We all of us look forward to seeing you in London this season. Perhaps then we may persuade you to take a house in Casterwell, so that you may spend at least some part of the years that are to come amongst us who love and esteem you. We are blessed, indeed, for we have health, wealth, and happiness; and, so far as our finite intelligence can perceive, our troubles all are at an end, and the future before us is tranquil. This letter leaves me, I may confidently say, the happiest woman in the three kingdoms.
"Write to me, my dear Priscilla, and tell me when you propose to arrive in London, as my book will be published this year, and it will be a great joy to me to feel that I am to have your valuable aid in correcting the proofs.
"Now let me conclude with a verse from the Book of Books, to show how thankful I am for the great mercies of the Almighty: 'I cried unto God with my voice, even unto God with my voice, and He gave ear unto me.'
"How truly that has been fulfilled, my dear Priscilla, you know.
"Believe me, my dear sister, ever your loving
"Rubina.
"P.S.--Will you enter some Roman Catholic place of worship, and see if any image of the Virgin Mary is decked with a turreted crown? The Diana of Ephesus wore such a one and I connect her with the Virgin. The crown itself is probably a reminiscence of the Tower of Babel.--R."