Chapter VI: Part 6

The thing was agreed to after some further conversation, and Miss Kingscott, charged with a curt epistle from the dowager, and a supply of money from the doctor's own purse--the old lady had not hinted at producing any, and did not advance any demurrer to his so doing--for paying her expenses on the road, was directed to go to Hartwood Station. She was to ask there whether they had seen Susan, and if she heard no intelligence, she was to proceed direct to London; there she was to call on the lawyers without losing time, explain the whole matter to Mr Trump, and tell him to come down at once--indeed, she was to bring him down with her if she could.

The governess obeyed her instructions to the letter, and acted all through as if she was as ignorant about Susan's disappearance and her movements as she had professed to be.

She asked about Susan in the village, in order that if any enquiries were made she could substantiate her statement of ignorance. Of course, nobody had heard there of the missing girl, as she very well knew would be the case. She then went on up to London by the next train, and proceeding at once to the offices to which she was directed, she handed the old lady's letter to the senior partner.

In the meantime, Doctor Jolly was attending to poor Tom's wounds; the wounded hero had passed a very bad night, and was feverish and excitable.

The doctor, who had his suspicions about Markworth, asked one or two guarded questions of Tom as to the whereabouts of his friend. He had been surprised at not seeing the exquisite at Lady Inskip's pic-nic: with his downright common sense, aided by his dislike and suspicions of Markworth, he thought that there must be some connection at first between Susan's disappearance and the absence of the other.

Tom's answers to his questions, however, fairly puzzled him, and the doctor was thrown off the scent entirely.

Tom said, in reply to one of the doctor's casual enquiries, that he had driven Markworth over to Hartwood Station himself before he had gone on to the pic-nic. That his friend had been suddenly summoned up to town the previous morning, and that he expected him back very shortly, as he said he might not be detained long; although Tom added, "he had taken his traps with him."

"Oh, he has? has he!" answered the doctor. "Well, I daresay we'll have him down soon again though, and then you will be able to get about again with him."

He cheered up Tom, who was very crestfallen and hippish with the pain he had undergone, and the thoughts of being kept a prisoner in bed whilst he so much wished, particularly now on account of Lizzie, to be able to move about.

"Bless my soul!" said the old fellow, cheerfully, as he went out, "why, you will be right again in a jiffey. We have got all that beastly shot out of you, and the place is healing beautifully. I tell you what I will do, too, Master Tom," he added, nodding his head knowingly, with a twinkling of his kind grey eyes--"I'll tell a certain little girl how we are getting on; I know she will feel interested!"

"Thank you, doctor; you're a trump, by Jove!" said Tom, gladly, "and give her my compliments."

"Hang your compliments, you young rascal; I'll give you her love when I come back!" and the doctor laughed himself with a cheery ho! ho! ho! out of the room, down the staircase, to the dining-room below, where Mrs Hartshorne--the old lady looking quite broken already from the anxiety she had gone through--was waiting to hear his report about Tom.

They had decided not to tell him yet about Susan in his present state-- not, at all events, until the lawyer came down.

The doctor said Tom was doing very well, although excitement would be bad for him; and then went out to pay some calls around, promising to call back in a few hours' time.

You may be sure he did not forget, with his kind heart, to call round at the Pringles, where he found little Lizzie listening anxiously for his approach, for he had promised her last night to come and give the news about Tom.

She eagerly thanked him for coming and for his good news, and coyly gave the doctor permission to take back her love to Tom: of course, she was as much surprised as the doctor was to hear of Susan's disappearance, and her sympathies were quite aroused when he told her how broken the old lady seemed under the double trouble she was suffering under.

Lizzie immediately offered to go up and see her, not knowing her general disposition so well as our friend Aesculapius; but he told her that it would be useless, and that nothing could be done until the lawyer and the detective arrived from London. Lizzie was doubly anxious about Susan for Tom's sake: it is wonderful the interest that young ladies take in the sisters and other relatives of young gentlemen for whom they may entertain regard! But Lizzie could do nothing, and was even more useless in the juncture than the dowager had at first supposed the governess to be when she offered to make herself useful.

After paying his round of calls, the doctor returned to The Poplars, some three hours or more from the time of his setting out: and he and the dowager then sat down in sympathy and mutual anxiety together in the parlour, for the first time in their respective lives, to wait for the return of Miss Kingscott from her mission to London.

Thus the hours passed by, the day after Susan Hartshorne's elopement.

Volume 2, Chapter IV.

MESSRS. TRUMP, SEQUENCE, AND CO.

Mrs Hartshorne's lawyers had their offices in one of the most palatial and dingy of that, whilom palatial, and now most dingy, collection of houses, which it would be sheer lunacy to christen a street,--yclept Bedford Row--that favourite abiding place and Mecca of the gentlemen of the "sheepskin" persuasion. The proprietress of The Poplars was one of the richest clients of the firm, who had for years done business for the family before the dowager's incorporation in it; but still it does not follow that Messrs. Trump, Sequence, and Co. got over many fees and costs from that long-headed lady. She employed them as a matter of course, for they had all the Hartshorne papers, but they got very little money out of her, or from the estate, since Roger Hartshorne, the old squire, died.

It was to these gentlemen that Miss Kingscott was introduced on coming up to London to fulfil the mission with which she had been entrusted. It was good to see how the eyes of both partners glistened on hearing that, at last, some business was to be done for the Sussex dowager. Miss Kingscott related the particulars.

Mr Trump at first was surprised, but being of a keen, energetic turn of mind, he quickly determined how to act.

Having examined and cross-examined Miss Kingscott with regard to the dress and appearance of the girl, and so on--although he himself had frequently seen Susan too--he at once drew up the form of an advertisement for the lost girl, offering a reward of fifty pounds for her recovery.

He then rang his bell for one of the clerks in the outer office; and a grizzled old man, old but alert, with his hair standing on end, like a porcupine's quills, at once obeyed the summons.

"Here, Smiffens," said Mr Trump, giving him the paper he had just written, "copy that advertisement; take down copies to the morning papers, and have it inserted at once. By the way," he added, as Smiffens bustled out of the room, "take a copy, too, to the printers, and have five hundred handbills struck off for the police. Wait for them till they're done, and take them down to the central office. I'm just going down to Scotland Yard myself, and will tell them to expect the bills. Be sharp, mind! there's no time to lose."

As soon as the clerk had gone, Mr Trump turned to the governess who had been waiting all this time.

"Now, I'm at your service, Miss Kingscott," he said. "I shall be happy to accompany you down to Hartwood if you are going back at once." Miss Kingscott signified that that was her intention. "You won't mind my stopping at the police-station, will you? I want to pick a sharp detective there, whom I know, and get him to go down with us."

"Oh, dear no!" said Miss Kingscott; and after a very trifling delay, Miss Kingscott, the lawyer, and John Bounce, special detective, of Scotland Yard, were in the coupe of a first-class carriage, and rattling down at express speed to Hartwood.

Arrived there, they managed to secure one of those extraordinary cabs or flys that are to be met with at country places, and which, I believe, are derelict London carriages that are thrown away by their former owners as worn out and useless: and after a short time they got to The Poplars, just as the doctor and the dowager, worn out with waiting, began to feel tired of the unusual pleasure of each other's company.

Matters having been explained over again, the detective, John Bounce, was set to work; and he, with that look of mystic preparation which the craft glory in, asked at once to be shown over the house. He examined every hole and corner as if he thought Susan had been purposely stowed away by the members of the family. When he was satisfied with an inspection of the house and garden, giving especial care to examining the various locks and appurtenances of the gates, he appeared to think profoundly for a short time, when he asked to be shown the clothes which Susan had left behind her. These gave him immense gratification, for he turned them over and over again, giving vent to sundry Lord Burleigh's shakings of the head, and portentous "humphs," as if he had the whole thing in his mind's eye.

Detectives, my dear sir, or madam, are not by any means such sharp personages as writers of fiction generally love to depict. There are some especially "cute" members of the force I don't for a moment deny; but as a class their knowledge and acquirements are fearfully exaggerated. Indeed, I must be so severe as to call them at once, humbugs; but they deceive themselves quite as greatly and as often as they deceive the public, and are by no means so sharp as the malefactors they are set to catch. I think a clergyman I once knew would have made a far better detective than a good many real _mouchoirs_ I have come across. He had the gift of at once divining at the truth, investigating the morality and ethics of his parishioners which not one detective in a hundred possesses. They put on a great deal of mystery, and appear to "know all about it," but they are really much more shallow conjurers than Herr Frickell when, turning up the sleeves of his coat and his snow-white wristbands and calling his audience's attention to the theory that there is "no preparation, gentlemen! no preparation," at once proceeds to smuggle eggs up his sleeves with a "Hi, Presto! Begone!"

The detective placed great emphasis on the fact that Susan had taken Miss Kingscott's dress and bonnet with her. "Putting two and two together," as he said, he delivered himself of the oracular assertion, that she "must have gone off somewhere," which, of course, no one else would have dreamt of but the dowager, who observed snappishly that she could have told him that before, and advised him to try and find out where the girl had gone to, as that was what he had been employed for. Whereupon, John Bounce appeared all at once to wake up to the notion that he would have to go somewhere else to look for the missing girl. He asked if they had enquired about her at the nearest railway station, and was told they had; and on being further told that another station, Bigglethorpe, was also not far from The Poplars, he said she might have gone there, which was also perfectly feasible to the meanest comprehension.

At Bigglethorpe they found out that the station-master remembered a tall, dark gentleman getting out on the previous day, and coming back shortly afterwards with a lady. He thought it was the same, because now he remembered the gentleman had left his bag there, and had taken it, and gone off in the next up-train. On the detective's telling him to "Take care!" and mentioning that he was a policeman, which he generally found to have an awe-inspiring influence on the _gamins_ of London, the station-master said he could not tell him any more, not if he were "twenty detectives, and the Lord Mayor into the bargain, all rolled into one." He recollected a gentleman getting out there, he thought, and coming back again, and going up to London, and he believed he had a lady with him, but he would not be sure. It was "no use a pestering him with any more questions, for he had his own business to attend to about the traffic returns." He did not know who the gentleman was, nor the lady, and he "had not seen them afore or since, and didn't want to see 'em either, for that matter." There the enquiry ended, for the detective was at fault; and that is all they found out about Susan, after searching for days about the neighbourhood in every direction.

Nothing could be done now but to wait and see what effect the advertisements and handbills would have in discovering her whereabouts. So Mr Trump and the detective had to go back to London as unsuccessful as when they had gone down; while Doctor Jolly and the old lady and Tom, who were all greatly grieved at the disappearance of the girl, could but wonder what had become of her. The only thing they had learnt for a certainty was that she was not in the county; and they could only hope that a good providence would watch over her, and bring her back to them safe: in the interim the police in the metropolis, with their wits sharpened by the reward offered, were doing all they could to ferret her out in London. And thus a month passed by.

During all this time, Messrs. Trump, Sequence, and Co. had been fairly worried out of their wits, day and night, with false reports about the finding of Susan. More than a hundred persons had come to their offices brimful of the intelligence that they had secured the fugitive, and had seen her at all sorts of unheard of places; but the persons whom they thought to be Susan turned out to be totally unlike her in every particular. Mr Trump was for ever going with the police to inspect the bodies of drowned persons; and yet no trace was found of the missing girl, and he at last began to hope devoutly that she would be found soon, whether dead or alive he did not care which, for he was bothered to death about the matter. Indeed, he would have cheerfully given a handsome sum to have "washed his hands," as he often said to Sequence, who had a peculiar, parrot-like habit of repeating Trump's words after him, as if affirmatively, "of the whole affair." To which Sequence would nod his head, and respond sagaciously, "Certainly, of the whole affair."

When Markworth, therefore, after the search had lasted a month, walked into the office one morning just after his interview with the Jew, Solomonson, and told Mr Trump, who had accosted him graciously, thinking he was a new client, that he came about the advertisement for the lost girl, Mr Trump was wroth and slightly snappy.

"I hope to goodness you've really found her, and not come here with any cock and bull story like the rest of 'em."

"I think you'll find," said Markworth, taking out the marriage certificate which he had brought with him, the advertisement, and a photographic likeness which he had had taken at Havre, "when you look at these, that I've found the girl, and am entitled to the reward you have offered."

"This is Susan, sure enough; but," he observed, "where's it taken? Havre? Havre? How the devil did she get there?"

"I took her there," answered Markworth, in the most cool and collected manner, according to his wont; "and if you'll look at this certificate here you'll see that I had a perfect right to do so. She is my wife!"

"Whew!" whistled Mr Trump, through his closed teeth. "Your wife! Why, the girl's insane!"

"That's where you make the mistake, my dear sir! She's no more insane than you are. Her people ought to have told you that, for although she had been previously a little `foolish,' perhaps, they saw her improvement of late; and she had the sense, at all events, to run away with me and get married, and that's no proof of her insanity."

"I don't know about that," said Mr Trump, "I don't know about that. I remember now, the old doctor said that she had been more intelligent before she disappeared, but he did not tell me that Susan Hartshorne was quite right in her mind, and I won't believe it. Do you know Mr --, I beg your pardon, I did not catch your name."

"Markworth, Allynne Markworth," said that gentleman.

"Thank you! Well then, Mr Allynne Markworth, do you know that that girl has a large fortune, and it is a very serious offence in the eyes of the law to abduct, and enter into a false contract of marriage with a girl of feeble intellect like that?"

"I am perfectly aware of the facts as you state them, my dear sir. Allow me to congratulate you on your legal presence of mind and abilities," said Markworth, as calmly as ever. "I knew she had a fortune, but you will have to prove she was _non compos mentis_, I believe that's your term for it, when I married her. The girl was of age, my dear sir. Look at that marriage certificate, and see for yourself. She was of legal age on the very day before we were married. There! you see the date of the certificate, 28th August, 1867."

"Well, well, whether she was of age or not you can be prosecuted under an indictment for a conspiracy to obtain the money of a person of unsound mind, under the pretence of going through a marriage ceremony with a person who, in the eye of the law, could not make a binding contract!"

"Precisely, my dear sir!" said the other, coolly, Mr Sequence, of course, taking no part in the conversation. "Precisely, but you see you will have to prove, in the first place, that the girl was of unsound mind; and in the second, to prove conspiracy you will have to implicate two or more persons. You see, I too, know the law, Mr Trump: allow me to inform you that I alone was concerned in the affair, how will you prove your conspiracy?"

The lawyer looked fairly baffled. "The girl's found at all events, and that's one trouble saved," he said to himself.

Markworth resumed after a moment's pause, "You see, my dear sir, the girl was of age, she was unhappy at home, she ran away with me and married me: the whole thing lies in a nutshell. I wasn't to blame; and, of course, as she has property, I shall take very good care to assert my rights as her husband. But that's an after consideration. You are quite satisfied that the girl is found, I suppose?" said Markworth, after detailing how Susan had met him on the day of her disappearance, taken train with him at Bigglethorpe Station (corroborated as the lawyer remembered, by his and the detective's enquiries on the day they went down to Hartwood), from whence they had come up to London, and then gone to Havre. The marriage certificate and photograph were also convincing proofs of his statement.

"Yes," said Mr Trump, "I suppose you have the girl; but it's a very queer case."

"My address is _Numero Sept_, _Rue Montmartre_, Havre, where you can see Mrs Markworth yourself: now I'll thank you to hand over that fifty pounds you offered as a reward for any information about her."

"By George!" said the lawyer, "you're a cool hand, and no mistake!" He could not gainsay Markworth's statement, however; so, unlocking his cash box, and taking out five ten pound notes, he handed them to him reluctantly. "There they are, and much good may they do you!" said Mr Trump, ruefully--He felt just as if he had been the victim of a practical joke.

Markworth, after counting them over carefully, pocketed the notes with the utmost _sang froid_. "I suppose you will inform Mrs Hartshorne of her daughter's marriage?"

"Of course, sir, of course! I shall make it my business to go down there myself at once."

"Aye, do, my dear sir! and get all those unpleasant details over. I'm myself going down to-morrow, and should not like to be bothered in having to make any explanation."

"You'll get as much as you want," said Mr Trump, significantly, "when you come across the old lady." And Mr Trump bethought him, with ill-concealed satisfaction, of the reception with which Markworth would probably meet; it would be a sort of tit-for-tat, or _quid pro quo_, for the "sell" he had just been made a victim of, in having to hand over that fifty pounds to the very man who had caused all the worry of Susan's disappearance. "You won't get any money out of her," he thought.

"I shall instruct my solicitors," said Markworth, as he turned to leave the room, after making the first move of his game of chess, "to substantiate my marriage, which can be easily done, and claim my wife's fortune."

"You had better," said Mr Trump, savagely; "you won't get it, my dear sir, without a fight, I can tell you!"

"Ha--um! _we_ will see," said Markworth, putting on his hat. "Good morning, gentlemen--good morning!" and he went out.

"Morning!" grunted Mr Trump, feeling as if he had undergone a defeat; and "Morning," echoed Mr Sequence, who had been listening carefully all the time, without putting in a word. He had the whole conversation, however, stored up in his brain for the future use of the firm.

Volume 2, Chapter V.

CONVALESCENT.

At the commencement of the fifth chapter of the veracious history of the Knight of La Mancha, it is related that "Don Quixote perceiving that he was not able to stir, resolved to have recourse to his signal remedy, which was to bethink himself what passage in his books might afford him comfort; and presently this fully brought to his remembrance that story of Baldwin and the Marquis of Mantua, when Charlotte left the former wounded on the mountain: a story learned and known by little children,"--as the author proceeds to comment,--"not unknown to young men and women, celebrated and even received by the old, and yet not a jot more authentic than the miracles of Mahomet."

In a similar way did our wounded hero, Master Tom, hasten his recovery by thinking over all the charming little love passages which had occurred between Miss Lizzie and himself; consequently in a few weeks, thanks to Cupid's recollections and the aid of pharmacy, our hero was nearly on his legs again.

The broken--"smashed" the doctor called them--ribs had been steadily improving, in spite of all the anxiety Tom suffered on his sister's account, sanguine though he was of her yet being brought home; and by the time that Markworth divulged his plot, and Mr Trump hastened down to The Poplars to communicate it, Master Tom had progressed his cure as rapidly as did Don Quixote, being able to leave his bed and hobble about a bit before being declared by Doctor Jolly to be quite convalescent and out of his hands. The young squire had, however, youth and health to back him up, which enabled the "signal remedy," perhaps, to have more effect on him than it had on Sancho Panza's master.

The interest which the invalid Tom had created, had somewhat deadened the effect of Susan's disappearance; and although that was as yet an unsolved secret, and the cause of much anxiety, still everyone, both in and out of the household, celebrated it as a day of rejoicing when Tom made his first re-appearance down stairs. The young Antinous had undergone the scars and strife of battle: it was meet that his recovery should be made much of, as indeed was the case.

Tom came down stairs, and all were glad to see him: even the dowager allowed a frigid smile of welcome to flit across her features as he entered the dining-room once more; and "Garge," whom he met in the passage, exclaimed, with his customary "ploughishness--"

"Lor' sakes, Measter Tummus! I are roight glad to say un!"

Miss Kingscott expressed her welcome by far too warmly, the old lady thought, for she advanced eagerly and squeezed the hand Tom offered, after curtseying low. Doctor Jolly was pleased to be present also on the occasion.

"Bless my soul, Tom!" he said. "Here we are, as right again as ninepence, my boy; I told you so, Mrs Hartshorne--I told you so," as if that lady were disputing the point. She was too glad to see Tom, however, to argue with the doctor as usual, but yielded the point gracefully, only throwing cold water on the ecstasies of our friend Damon, by suggesting that Tom's youth and constitution had pulled him through better perhaps than all the physic and meddling doctors in the world. Doctor Jolly, however, could also afford to be lenient; so he left the dowager's challenge unanswered.

After a day or two, Tom hobbled out into the garden. He was still very weak and pale, but improving; and as soon as he had tried his powers at hobbling outside the front door, he determined to hobble down to the parsonage. "It was only right, you know, after all their kind enquiries every day about his health!" The Pringles had sent up every morning an extraordinary looking young female servant of theirs, whom the dowager christened "the Gezaba," to ask how "Mister Tom was getting on." Naturally Tom could do no less than return his thanks for such an attention: it could be no other motive that would take him out down to the parsonage so soon after he was able to stir--nothing else, of course!

Accordingly, Tom sallied out a day or two after he had come down stairs, telling no one of his venture, for they would all have been up in arms at his walking so far so soon after his illness.

It was now a month past the era of the pic-nic--a month remarkable for much besides his accident, and Tom had many things to think of, not the least of which was the recollection of what he had said to Lizzie, and she to him, just after he had been wounded. Doctor Jolly had acted as a sort of go-between to them, having carried many a little message twixt The Poplars and the parsonage, after Tom had been placed _hors de combat_. Kind hearted old Doctor Jolly--his is the truest and most pleasant face on these pages!

Tom remembered that walk of his for many a day afterwards. How he had paused at that corner to take breath, and rested on this stile here to recover his faintness; and how he thought he would never be able to reach his destination, until he saw the square old tower of the church and the trim built parsonage beyond. But he got over the ground heavily, hobbling along by the aid of his stick, and receiving hearty greetings of "Foine day, sir!" from the fat farmers, who rejoiced to see the "yoong squoire" about again.

The parsonage never looked prettier, he thought, as he got to the gate at last, and Tom rolled over in his mind what he should say to Lizzie, and if she would be glad to see him, and whether he should see her at all.

His doubts were, however, soon solved. The "Gezaba of a servant" who opened the door and bungled out a sort of greeting to him, told him that both "Miss Lizzie and the master" were in. Tom could have dispensed with Pringle's presence, but he had to make the best of a bad bargain.

As he entered the little drawing-room which he knew so well, Pringle stepped forward gladly to meet him, while Lizzie remained shyly in the background.

"By Jove! Tom"--they had long since dropped surnames between them, as men do after a little intimacy--"I'm right glad to see you, old fellow! But we heard that you only got out of bed the day before yesterday, so we hardly expected you to come over yet. How are you, old fellow, eh?" and he shook Tom eagerly by the hand.

"Oh, I'm all right," answered our hero, after which he gave Lizzie's hand a very hard squeeze, which caused that young lady to blush furiously, but in a moment the flush of excitement passed off Tom's face, and he looked as pale as death; if he had not caught hold of the back of a chair he would have dropped down. The walk had certainly been too much for him.

"Oh! Herbert," exclaimed Lizzie, in alarm, "he's going to faint!" and she ran forward to Tom, who, I believe, would have cheerfully fainted at the juncture, if he could possibly have achieved it; you see, the circumstances were very favourable to the occasion.

As it was, the "gay young dog," as Doctor Jolly would have said, was "in precious nice quarters," for there he was in a moment, by the aid of Pringle's arm, laid out on the comfortable sofa, with Lizzie bathing his forehead with _eau de Cologne_, and handing him smelling salts, and Pringle enquiring every moment, "Do you feel better now, eh, old fellow?"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!" said Lizzie, as she bent over him with her face suffused with a carnation tinge whenever she caught his eye, which the artful rogue contrived should happen very frequently--"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir! walking out so soon, and you deserve a good punishing."

And Miss Lizzie looked very stern, indeed, with her violet eyes beaming with a rich warm light: she seemed as if she would punish Master Tom very severely.

"Yes, it's very wrong," answered the recumbent hero; "but you see, I could not help it, you know!" and Miss Lizzie blushed again, as Tom looked very meaningly at her.

"Better now, old fellow?" put in Pringle, at this juncture. "That's right: you don't look so pale now. By Jove! I thought you were going to faint."

"Bless you! I'll be right in a twinkle," answered Tom. "You see, the walk was a trifle too much; but I feel decidedly better now," with a look at the young lady's eyes to invigorate himself anew: the violet eyes seemed to act as a sort of tonic.

"You shall be condemned to lie on the sofa all the afternoon, sir!" said Lizzie, "as a punishment for your imprudence!"

"All right," laughed Tom, "I'll stop for ever--that is if you'll let me; but what will your brother say?" he asked, with a roguish glance.

"Oh! certainly--certainly," said Pringle, hurriedly; he was very much puzzled how to act. It looked very much like a flirtation between his sister and Tom, under his very nose as it were, and he had promised Lady Inskip to "put a stop to it." He did not know what to do. He liked Tom, and did not wish besides to appear uncourteous; but he was very nervous. "If I were only her mother," he murmured to himself, "it would be easy enough;" but as he unfortunately did not occupy the position of a maternal relative, he was on thorns all the time Tom stayed.

"Don't you think we'd better have some lunch, Lizzie," he said, after a pause, filled up by the other two very agreeably by the aid of that very intelligible "conversation without words"--which by the aid of looks is carried on between lovers, whether _de facto_ or _de jure_. Whereupon Lizzie bustled out of the room, shaking a little bunch of keys in the most housewifely manner, and looking dangerously pretty; presently returning with the "Gezaba" in her train, and carrying a little damask covered luncheon tray. The three had a very sociable and pleasant little meal, although neither Tom nor Lizzie eat much; however, they both drank deeply-intoxicating draughts from each other's eyes.

Presently, Tom rose to go, after paying a call of some hours' duration, during which Pringle had never given him an opportunity of being alone with Lizzie. "What cubs brothers are!" thought Tom in his inmost heart, but he thanked Pringle aloud for his kindness in sending up every day to enquire after him. Pringle was candid with all his faults. "Oh, you must thank Lizzie for that," he said; "I've called several times myself to ask about you, but she sent up the servant, I believe, every day!"

And then, of course, Master Tom had to thank Miss Lizzie. Why the thanking had to occupy such a long time, and why Lizzie had to blush so much, and why Master Tom had to keep her hand such an unconscionable long time in his, while Pringle went forward to open the door, and show his guest out; and why Tom had to make the little attention into a serious business by saying, "I shall never forget it! never, as long as I live," I can't explain--sufficient to say that Master Tom appeared very much satisfied at leaving her, though he had not had the chance of actually telling his love, while Miss Lizzie did not appear as if she would "punish" him, as she threatened to do, when he called again.

The young incumbent walked home with Tom, to give him the benefit of his arm; and he was very uncomfortable about it all, for he could not ask a poor, sick fellow like that who was hobbling by his side, "what were his intentions." He must let matters rest for a season, until something actually turned up. He was distrustful of the whole business, for he did not think the rich and purse-proud old dowager would consent to let her son wed her curate's portionless sister; so Pringle felt worried in his heart, and, after seeing Tom home, had to go and call on Lady Inskip in order to be comforted by the languid Laura.

When Tom got to The Poplars, he found that a great deal had happened in his absence.

Mr Trump had come down post haste to tell about Susan's recovery, and how Markworth had taken her away and married her, and that she was with him now at Havre. The lawyer was still waiting to see him. Doctor Jolly too was there, and had heard the news, our old friend telling Tom as he hobbled into the hall, "Bless my soul! sir, there's the very devil to pay!"

Volume 2, Chapter VI.

STORMY! GLASS RISING.

Barometers are of such use to maritime and other folk, in indicating the changes of atmospherical phenomena, and the approach of disturbing elements, that it is a wonder in these go-a-head days, no instrument has been constructed by which we could ascertain the fluctuations of the human temperament. One might have a sort of graduated thermometer, _par exemple_, to indicate the rise and force of the passions, especially that of anger, and call it a "cholerometer." The idea may be recommended to the attention of scientific philanthropists, as it would be of incalculable use in preventing unruly encounters, if one but just knew the exact choleric and argumentative calibre and equipoise of those with whom one has frequently to come in contact.

If such an instrument did exist, the barometrical measurement applied to the old dowager, Mrs Hartshorne's temper on the morning that Markworth came to have his interview, and state his case about Susan, would certainly have indicated some such stormy height, or fall, as 29 degrees 31, or thereabouts!

Mr Trump had gone down expressly the previous day, as he said he would; and a nice storm he created. "Not a tempest in a teapot," but a regular carousal of the elements--a rushing together of hot and cold streams, not of air, as is so eloquently described in the pages of Professor Maury, but of temper and passion.

"Stuff and nonsense," said the dowager, virulently, "I won't believe it! Do you mean to say that that man, who was stopping here in the house with us as Thomas' friend, and accepted our hospitality, took advantage of our kindness, and ran off with that idiot girl; why, it's absurd! Stuff and nonsense, I tell you. I won't believe it!"

"But, my dear madam," interposed Mr Trump, "I assure you it is a fact. We've got the proof, and I have just told you all the circumstances. It's as clear as a counsellor's wig, madam! He took the girl away from here, married her, and there she is; nothing could be plainer."

"Gammon!" said the dowager. "It is all rubbish!"

"My dear madam," said the lawyer, "just be sensible for a moment."

"I've got more sense in my little finger, sir, than you have in your whole body," snapped out the old lady.

"Granted, my dear madam; but, pardon me, if that is not exactly relevant to the case. The proof is clear enough that Markworth took her away; and I sent my clerk down to the church mentioned in the certificate, and there is no doubt that he married Susan there, and that she's now at Havre. Besides, his motive is plain enough; he wanted to get her fortune."

"The artful, designing scoundrel!" broke out the dowager.

"The question is, my dear madam, what is to be done now? That fellow said he was coming down here to-morrow morning. Would it be better to wait until you see him, and fathom his plans, or else send over to Havre at once, and take steps to recover the girl?"

"The cunning, crawling villain!" ejaculated Mrs Hartshorne; "but I'll be even with him yet, I'll be even with him!"

"I am quite at your disposal," promptly replied the lawyer, who was eager to be bounding after Markworth; and just at this moment, before anything had been decided upon, Doctor Jolly was announced.

He apologised for interrupting the conversation; but said, that as he had heard that Mr Trump had just come down, he thought there would be some tidings of Susan, which must be his excuse for walking in so unceremoniously.

Whereupon, both the dowager and the lawyer together fired out upon him with the astonishing news. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed he, horrified at what he heard. "Who would have thought it? But I always said he was a bad fellow! I told you so Mrs Hartshorne, I told you so!"

"And much good there was in your telling! If you hadn't been always dangling here, taking that governess off from her duties, and had looked after Susan better yourself, this would never have happened."

"Bless my soul! madam," exclaimed the doctor, staring helplessly at Mr Trump, aghast at the blame being thus thrown on him of all others; and dabbing his face in perplexity with his yellow bandana pocket handkerchief. "Bless my soul, madam! What have _I_ got to do with it?"

Tom at this moment came hobbling up the front steps, and the doctor, eagerly seizing the opportunity to escape from the dowager's invective, went out of the room hastily to open the door for him, when he took the opportunity of telling Tom, as we have already heard, that there was "the devil to pay in there," pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to the room he had just quitted, in the most significant manner.

The tale had, of course, to be told over again to Tom, when he was admitted to the council, now of four; and an animated debate ensued on what was to be done. It was finally resolved that the lawyer should telegraph to London, and send over one of his clerks that night to Havre, to watch the house where Susan was, and see that she was not removed in the interim; that Mr Trump was to remain at The Poplars until after Markworth's visit on the morrow; and, at his express wish, Tom was to go over as soon afterwards as possible, and fetch Susan back himself.

After a good deal of fluctuation, from 29 degrees 31 down to so low a fall as 28 degrees 64, the barometrical pressure of the dowager's temper had returned to its abnormal state, during the excited conversation that had gone on all the time; but the next morning, however, when Markworth made his appearance, the dowager's barometer sank again to a very low depth indeed.

Although he was opposed to three people at once--the old lady, Tom, and Mr Trump, the former of whom piled Pelion on Ossa in her wrath, Markworth kept his temper admirably. He seemed to pride himself on the successful issue of his scheme, and related each step he had taken with an air of ill-concealed triumph. The dowager was furious, but her hot-tempered words appeared to have little or no effect on the man who now proclaimed himself the husband of her daughter, a neglect of which daughter by herself and her cruelty, he stated, led to his success. Rages are all very well in their way, but the dowager's anger was powerless here, so Markworth bore off the palm of victory against the triple odds against which he had contested it.

The only time that he appeared to be affected by all that was said against him, was when Tom addressed him pointedly and coldly with the stern truth, which he could not dispute. He then turned pale.

"You have done a dishonourable action, sir," said Tom. "I treated you and trusted you as a gentleman and a friend, and you have abused that trust. I--I never thought you would have acted like it; and, apart from the injury you have done us, I am sorry for it, for you have hurt my faith in a man's honour."

Tom really felt it thus.

"I can't excuse myself," answered Markworth, "but I have done good to your sister instead of harm. I have brought her back to her reason, instead of letting her remain a hopeless idiot, as she would have done if I had not drawn her out; and I'll say this, it was not all for the sake of her money I did it. I was really, so help me heaven I interested in her case, and trusted to cure her honestly."

"You need not swear any more false oaths to me," answered Tom; "I don't desire to speak to you again, or see you again as long as I live."

"Very well," said Markworth, "so be it. But all I have to say is this, that if you wish to take back your sister you are free to do so; if she likes to go, I will not prevent her. As for you, madam," he said, turning politely to Mrs Hartshorne, and bowing, "I have placed the matter in the hands of my solicitor, for I am determined to get the fortune to which my wife is entitled."

"You'll not get a penny, rogue," retorted the dowager (barometer 28 degrees 64!) "not if there's any law in the land."

"We will see, madam."

"Hark you, sir," said Mr Trump, having his say, of which he had been sadly deprived all the time the dowager was going on. "Hark you, sir, we can find the girl was of unsound mind, as I told you before, and have you indicted for a conspiracy."

"That we will!" echoed the dowager, "and have you on the treadmill, villain!"

Mrs Hartshorne had somewhat vague notions of the power of that large word in capitals--Law, and seemed to think that its obvious bent in any case, especially one like the present, was the treadmill.

"We will see," answered Markworth, defiantly; "but you will have to prove your case, my dear sir. You see I did it all by myself, and the girl was a willing agent, and of age: she is of perfectly sound mind, as she can prove in the witness-box, and how you are to get over all that evidence remains to be proved."

"We'll prove it," answered Mr Trump; but although he was certainly cross, his countenance did not exhibit any strong hopes of success. "The cunning vagabond is too much for us," he murmured, _sotto voce_.

"Good morning," said Markworth, blandly, to all, and he walked out triumphantly, the dowager screaming after him, "Not a penny will you get, scoundrel."

In Markworth's confession he had very naturally, for his own sake, not brought up the governess's name; consequently she was excluded from all share in the conspiracy. She knew of his being down, however, and had gone out apparently for a walk while the battle was being fought in the dining-room. She wished to meet Markworth alone, and he was equally desirous to see her; so it is not surprising that a few minutes after taking such a stagey farewell of the dowager, the two met beyond the precincts of The Poplars.

"Just the person I wanted to see," ejaculated Markworth, on coming up with her under the shadow of the wall, which encircled the Hartshorne mansion.

"Indeed! I did not think you would be so glad to see me," replied Miss Kingscott.

"Indeed I am, Clara; I wished to settle up with you. I have married the girl, and the thing's regularly _en train_ now. I have only got to get the money."

"That's just what I wanted."

"Well, I've got it for you."

"Really?" exclaimed the governess, surprised; she had never thought that Markworth would have kept to his compact once he had got the girl off. But he was "careful about little things," as he had told Tom when he first came down to The Poplars, and he was not going to incur Clara Kingscott's hostility by breaking his agreement, even when there was nothing to force him to keep it.

"Yes, really," he answered; "here's the other hundred I promised you, so you and I are quits, Clara."

"Thank you," she said, turning over the notes in astonishment in her hand; "I never expected you to pay me."

"Did you not. I always keep my bargains."

"Do you," she replied. "You have not always done so."

"Let bygones be bygones, Clara; I promised you the money, and I have paid you now, and you cannot complain."

"It is the first time you ever recollected what you owed me," said the governess, bitterly.

"Don't say that, Clara; let us be good friends. Our compact is now finished, and we need not rake up the past. If there is anything more I can do for you, Clara, let me know; and if it's in my power, I'll do it," said Markworth, magnanimously, for he thought the woman had still a lingering regard for him.

"I don't want anything from you, Allynne Markworth," she said, angrily stamping her foot; "and I don't wish to see you again. You've been the curse of my life! But all's not over yet between us!" she muttered, significantly, as she turned on her heel and walked back towards the house.

Markworth looked after her a moment, and then resumed his way down to the railway station, _en route_ for London. He had a good deal to do before starting for Havre, and wanted to get there before Tom or anyone else went over after Susan.

"That's the way with them all!" he said, to himself, as he walked away rapidly in quick strides. "They get all they can, and then wash their hands of you!"

But he made a great mistake. Miss Kingscott had not by any means washed her hands of Markworth yet. She had gathered a good deal from the conversation between Mr Trump and the dowager on the previous day, to which she had listened attentively through the keyhole of the next room, and she knew that she could not only upset Markworth's plans for obtaining Susan's inheritance, but perhaps, also, get him imprisoned, if she exposed her share in the affair.

This she intended to do, but not until the last moment, just when she should think fit; and at present she would remain at The Poplars, and go on as if she knew nothing of the great event. She might captivate Tom in the meantime, she thought; and, at all events, she as yet had the doctor to fall back upon. Aesculapius had been twice as devoted to her since she displayed so much energy in trying to get Susan back. He had muttered to himself, over and over again, as he rode up to The Poplars, in his daily visits to Tom, "She is a dooced fine girl; and a clever girl, too, by Gad!" and, no doubt, would have repeated that declaration of his which the campaigner's call had nipped in the bud, if the opportunity had only favoured him. But it had not, for the dowager seemed adverse to letting the doctor remain a moment alone with the governess.

When Markworth had gone away, the council between Mrs Hartshorne, and Tom, and the lawyer, was resumed; Tom said that he would go the next day if he was able and fetch back Susan. As for the money matters, the old lady declared she would spare no expense to "cheat that scoundrel" out of his plunder; and Mr Trump was authorised to go to every end to defeat the suit of Markworth _versus_ Hartshorne, which the schemer had stated would be at once commenced, the old lady refusing to surrender her daughter's fortune unless she were compelled to do so. And she "wouldn't even do it then," she declared.

While they were debating over the matter, Miss Kingscott came in quietly and went up to her room--nobody knowing what a strong witness she would prove on the side of the defendants in the case, if she so willed it: she now revolved in her mind whether she would or would not act in the matter. It was as yet unsettled, although she had sworn to revenge herself on Markworth. His last words to her had somewhat disarmed her.

Nemesis or _non_ Nemesis: that was the question. The former triumphed. Mr Trump went back to London; and there he found that the case of Markworth _versus_ Hartshorne, was already "brewing in the storm," although it remained to be proved whether it was going to be "nipped in the bud," as the American stump speaker told his audience after he had informed them that he "smelt a rat." With which metaphor the chapter had better be concluded.

Barometer "Fair" again!

Volume 2, Chapter VII.

THE CAMPAIGNER "CARRIES THE FORTRESS."

Like a lamb to the slaughter, Herbert Pringle was led by the wily campaigner to his doom matrimonial.

When the veteran perceived that all her operations _in re_ Tom and the gushing Carry must for a time be postponed, on account of the prostration of the principal combatant, she determined to prosecute the other enterprise to the best of her ability, and declared a sort of _guerre a l'outrance_ against the young incumbent for the sake of her eldest daughter, the charming Laura.