Chapter I: Front Matter

[Frontispiece: "The vicar's wife would have a fit if I lounged like this." _See page 4_]

WHEN

THE BIRDS

BEGIN TO SING.

A Novel

BY

WINIFRED GRAHAM,

AUTHOR OF

"ON THE DOWN GRADE," &c., &c.

_WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS_

BY HAROLD PIFFARD.

LONDON:

C. ARTHUR PEARSON LTD.,

HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.

1897

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. AND WHEN LOVE SPEAKS

II. "IMPARADIS'D IN ONE ANOTHER'S ARMS."--_Milton_

III. "GOD MADE THE WOMAN FOR THE MAN."--_Tennyson_

IV. LIFE IS A JEST

V. "THE FLY THAT SIPS TREACLE IS LOST IN THE SWEETS"

VI. LIKE ONE THAT ON A LONESOME ROAD
DOST WALK IN FEAR AND DREAD

VII. THE SHADOWS RISE AND FALL

VIII. KIND HEARTS ARE MORE THAN CORONETS.

IX. HEART SICK AND WEARY WITH THE JOURNEY'S FRET

X. FALSER THAN ALL FANCY FATHOMS

XI. IF WE ONLY KNOW! IF WE ONLY KNOW!

XII. "TO-MORROW, AND TO-MORROW, AND TO-MORROW."--_Shakespeare_

XIII. "IF NEED, TO DIE--NOT LIVE."--_Charles Kingsley_

XIV. IN CLOUDS OF SILENCE FOLDED OUT OF SIGHT

XV. "AH, FOR SOME RETREAT
DEEP IN YONDER SHINING ORIENT."--_Tennyson_

XVI. OH, LOVE! IN SUCH A WILDERNESS AS THIS

XVII. "WHERE THERE AIN'T NO TEN COMMANDMENTS."--_Rudyard Kipling_

XVIII. LET US BE OPEN AS THE DAY

XIX. THE IDEAL! DIM VANITIES OF DREAMS BY NIGHT

XX. LIFE IS THORNY, AND YOUTH IS VAIN

XXI. "BY A ROUTE OBSCURE AND LONELY,
HAUNTED BY ILL ANGELS ONLY."--_E. A. Poe._

XXII. "NO FOOTSTEP STIRRED--THE HATED WORLD ALL SLEPT,
SAVE ONLY THEE AND ME. (OH, HEAVEN! OH, GOD!)"

XXIII. "OH, I DEFY THEE, HELL, TO SHOW,
ON BEDS OF FIRE THAT BURN BELOW,
A DEEPER WOE."--_E. A. Poe_

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

"THE VICAR'S WIFE WOULD HAVE A FIT IF I LOUNGED
LIKE THIS" . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece

"LOOK! THERE IT GOES."

SALUTING THE OLD PICTURES ON THE WALL WITH MOCK COURTESY

THE DINING-ROOM DOOR OPENS, AND PHILIP ROCHE STANDS BEFORE THEM

"MR. AND MRS. GREBBY!"

SHE COVERS HER FACE WITH HER HANDS

"MAY I SEE THAT PHOTOGRAPH?"

"WHY, IT'S NEVER MR. ROCHE!" SHE EXCLAIMS

SHE RUSHES TO THE DOOR WITH A WILD CRY

ELEANOR STAGGERS ON BREATHLESSLY UP THE HILL

THE CRUEL FINGERS PRESS WITH DEADLY FORCE

BIG TOMBO BOWS ASSENT

BEARING TENDERLY THE LIMP BODY OF THE TERRIER

"WHAT VILLAIN HAS KILLED MY HORSE?"

SHE STEALS INTO THE VERANDAH AND WATCHES

PHILIP THROWS BACK HIS COAT, AND SHE SEES THE SHIRT
BENEATH IT IS SPLASHED WITH BLOOD

WHEN THE BIRDS BEGIN TO SING.