Chapter 20320503

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Chapter NumberSecond period. First narrative: VI
Chapter Title
Chapter Urlhttp://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article20320503
Full Date1868-09-19
Page Number2
Corrections0
Word Count9160
IllustratedN
Last Corrected0000-00-00
Newspaper TitleThe Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 - 1939)
Trove TitleThe Moonstone
article text

The Novelist.

THE MOONSTONE.

FIRST NARRATIVE.

CHAPTER VI.

BY WILKIE COLLINS. Author of "The Woman in White," "No Name," etc.

LADY VERINDER'S death left her daughter under the care of her brother-in-law, Mr. Able-<*> white the elder. He was appointed guardian by the will, until his niece married, or came of

age. Under those circumstances, Mr. Godfrey informed his father, I suppose, of the new re lation in which he stood toward Rachel. At any rate, in ten days from my aunt's death, the secret of the marriage engagement was no secret at all within the circle of the family, and the grand question for Mr. Ahlewhite senior— another confirmed castaway!—wa3 how to make himself and his authority most agreeable to the wealthy young lady who was going to marry niß son. Bachel gave him some trouble, at the outset, about the choice of a place in which she could be prevailed upon to reside. The house in Montagu Square was associated with the calamity of her mother's death. The house in Yorkshire was associated with the scandalous affair of the lost Moonstone. Her guardian's own residence at Frizinghall was open to neither of these objections. But Rachel's presence in it, after her recent bereavement, operated as a check on the gaieties of her cousins, the Misb Ablewhites —and she herself requested that her visit might be deferred to a more favorable opportunity. It ended in a proposal, emanating from old Mr. i blewhite, to try a furnished house at Brighton. His wife, an invalid daughter, and Bachel were to inhabit it together, and were to expect him to join them later in the season They would see no society but a few old friends, and they would have his son, Godfrey, travel ling backward and forward by the London train always at their disposal. I describe this aimless flitting about from one place of residence to another—this insatiate rest lessness of body and appalling stagnation of soul —merely with a view of arriving at results. The event which (under Providence) proved to be the meanßof bringingßachelVerinderandmy self together again, was no other than the hiring of the house at Brighton. My Aunt Ablewhite is a large, silent, fair compleiioned woman, with one noteworthy point in her character. From the hour of her birth she has never been known to do anything for herself. She has gone through life accept ing everybody's help, and adopting everybody's opinions. A more helpless person, in a spiritual point of view, I have never met with—there is absolutely, in this perplexing case, no obstruc tive material to work upon. Aunt Ablewhite would listen to the Grand Lama of Thibet ex actly as she listens to me, and would reflect his views quite as readily aa she reflects mine. She found the furnished house at Brighton by stop ping at an hotel in London, composing herself on a sofa, and sending for her son. She dis covered the necessary servants by breakfasting in bed one morning (still at the hotel), and giving her maid a holiday on condition that the girl "would begin enjoying herself by fetching Miss * Clack." I found her placidly fanning herself in her dressing-gown at 11 o'clock. "Druailla, dear, I want some servants. You are so clever —please get them for me." I looked round the untidy room. The church bells were goibg for a week-day service; they suggested a word of affectionate remonstrance on my part. " Oh, aunt!" I said, sadly, "is this worthy of a . Christian Englishwoman ? Is the passage from time to'eternity to be made in this manner ?" My aunt answered, " I'll put on my gown, Dru silla, if yon will be kind enough to help me." What was to be said after that ? I have done wonders with murderesses—l have never ad vanced an inch with Aunt Ablewhite. " Where is the list," I asked, "of the servants whom you require?" "My aunt shook her head; she hadn't even energy enough to keep the list. " Bachel has got it, dear," she said, " in the next room." I went into the next room, and so saw Bachel again, for the first time since we had parted in Montagu Square. She looked pitiably small and thin in her deep mourning. If I attached any serious importance to such a perishable trifle as personal appear ance, I might be inclined to add that hers was one of those unfortunate complexions which always suffers when not'relieved by a border of white next the skin. But what are our com plexions and our looks ? Hindrances and pitfalls, dear girls, which beset us on our way to higher things! Greatly to my surprise, Rachel rose when I entered the room, and came forward to meet me with outstretched hand. *' lam glad to see you," she said. " Dru silla, I have been in the habit of speaking very foolishly and very rudely to you, on former occasions. I beg your pardon. I hope you will forgive me." " Where is the list, dear ?" was all I could say. Bachel produced it. " Cook, kitchen-maid, house-maid, and foot man," I read. "My dear Rachel, these servants are only wanted for a term—the term during which your guardian has taken the house. We shall have great difficulty in finding persons of character and capacity to accept a temporary engagement of that sort, if we try in London. Has the house at Brighton been found yet ?" " Yes. Godfrey has taken it; and persons in the house wanted him to hire them as servants. He thought they would hardly do for us, and came back having settled nothing." " And you have no experience yourself in these matters, Rachel ?" " None whatever." " And Aunt Ablewhite won't exert herself?" " No, poor dear. Don't blame her, Drusilla. I think she is the only really happy woman I have ever met with." "There are degrees in happiness, darling. We must have a little talk some day on that' subject. In the mean time I will undertake to meet the difficulty about the servants. Your aunt will write a letter to the people of the house—" " She will sign a letter if I write it for her, which come? to the same thing." " Quite tue same thing. I shall get the letter, and I will go to Brighton to-morrow." " How extremely kind of you! We will join you as soon as you are ready for us. And you will stay, I hope, as my guest. Brighton is so lively; you are sure to enjoy it. In those words the invitation was given, and the glorious prospect of interference was opened before me, and all was soon ready. Between 6 and 7 the travellers arrived. To my indescribable surprise, they were escorted, not by Mr. Godfrey (as I had anticipated), but by the lawyer, Mr. Bruff.

"How do you do, Miss Clack?" he said. " I mean to stay this time." That reference to the occasion on which I had obliged him to postpone his business to mine, when we were both visiting in Montagu Square, satisfied me that the old worldling had come to Brighton with some object of his own in view. I had prepared quite a little Paradise for my beloved Rachel—and here was the serpent already! " Godfrey was very much vexed, Drusilla, not to be able to come with us," said my Aunt Ablewhite. " There was something in the way which kept him in town. Mr. Bruff volunteered to take his place, and make a holiday of it till Monday morning. Bye-the-by, Mr. Bruff, I'm ordered to take exercise; and I don't like it. That," added Aunt Ablewhite, pointing out of the window to *an invalid going by in a chair on wheels, drawn by a man, " is my idea of exer cise. If it's air you want, you get it in your chair. And if it's fatigue you want, I'm sure it's fatiguing enough to look at the man." Rachel stood silent at a window by herself, with her eyes fixed on the sea. " Tired love ?" I inquired. " No. Only a little out of spirits," she an swered. " I have often seen the sea, on our Yorkshire coast, with that light on it. And I was thinking, DrusilJa, of the days that can never come again." Mr. Bruff remained to dinner, and stayed through the evening. The more I saw of him, the more certain I felt that he had some private end to serve in coming to Brighton. I watched him carefully. He maintained the same ap pearance of ease, and talked the same godless gossip, hour after hour, until it was time to take leave. As he shook hands with Rachel I caught his hard and cunning eye resting on her for a moment with a very peculiar interest and at tention. She was plainly concerned in the ob ject that he had in view. He said nothing out of the common to her or to any one, on leaving. He invited himself to luncheon the next day, and then he went away to his hotel. It was impossible, the next morning, to get my Aunt Ablewhite out of her dressing-gown in time for church. Her invalid daughter (suffer ing from nothing, in my opinion, but incurable laziness, inherited from her mother) announced that she meant to remain in bed for the day. Rachel and I went alone together to church. A magnificent sermon was preached by my gifted friend, on the heathen indifference of the world to the sinfulness of little sins. For more than an hour his eloquence (assisted by his glorious voice) thundered through the sacred edifice. I said to Rachel, when we came out, " Has it found its way to your heart, dear ?" And she answered, " No; it has only made my head ache." This might have been discouraging to some people. But, once embarked on a career of manifest usefulness, nothing discourages me. We found Aunt Ablewhite and Mr. Bruff at luncheon. When Rachel declined eating any thing, and gave as a reason for it that she was suffering from a headache, the lawyer's cunning instantly saw, and seized, the chance that she had given him. " There is only one remedy for a headache," said this horrible old man. " A walk, Miss Rachel, iB the thing to cure you. lam entirely at your service, if you will honor me by accept ing my arm." " With the greatest pleasure. A walk is the very thing I was longing for." " It's past 2," I gently suggested. " And the afternoon service, Rachel, begins at 3." " How can you expect me to go to church again," she asked, petulantly, "with such a headache as mine ?" Mr. Bruff officiously opened the door for her. In a minute more they were both out of the house. I don't know when I have felt the solemn duty of interferingjso strongly as I felt it at that moment. But what waß to be done ? Nothing was to be done but to interfere, at the first opportunity, later in the day. On my return from the afternoon service, I found that they had just got back. One look at them told me that the lawyer had said what he wanted to say. I had never before seen Rachel so silent and so thoughtful. I had never before seen Mr. Bruff pay her such devoted attention, and look at her with such marked respect. He had (or pretended that he had) an engagement to dinner that day—and he took an early leave of us all; intending to go back to London by the first train the next morning. " Are you Bure of your own resolution ?" he said to Rachel at the door. "Quite Bure," she answered—and so they parted. The moment his back was turned Rachel withdrew to her own room. She never appeared at dinner. Her maid (the person with the cap ribbons) was sent down stairs to announce that her headache had returned. I ran up to her, and made all sorts of sisterly offers through the door. It was locked, and she kept it locked. Plenty of obstructive material to work on h«re! I felt greatly cheered and stimulated by her locking the door. When her cup of tea went up to her the next morning I followed it in. I sat by her bedside and said a few earnest words. She listened with languid civility. I noticed my serious friend's precious publications huddled together on a table in a corner. Had she chanced to look into them ?—I asked. Yes—and they had not in terested her. Would she allow me to read a few passages, of the deepest interest, which had probably escaped her eye ? No; not now—she had other things to think of. She gave these answers, with her attention apparently absorbed in folding and refolding the fri'l of her night gown. It was plainly necessary to rouse her by some reference to those worldly interests which she still had at heart. "Do you know, love," I said, " I had an odd fancy, yesterday, about Mr. Bruff? I thought, when I saw you after your walk with him, that he had been telling you some bad news." t Her fingers dropped from the frilling of her night-gown, and her fierce black eyes flashed at me. " Quite the contrary!" she said. "It was news I was interested in hearing—and I am deeply indebted to Mr. Bruff for telling me of it." " Yes ?" I said, in a tone of gentle interest. Her fingers went back to the frilling, and she turned her head sullenly away from me. J had been met in this manner, in the conrse of plying the good work, hundreds of times. She merely stimulated me to try again. In my dauntless zeal for her welfare I ran the great risk, and openly alluded to her marriage en gagement. " News you were interested in hearing ?" I repeated. " I suppose, my dear Rachel, that must be news of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite ?" She started up in the bed and turned deadly pale. It was evidently on the tip of her tongue

to retort on me with the unbridled insolence of former times. She checked herself—laid her head back on the pillow—considered a minute —and then answered in these remarkable words : " I shall never marry Mr. Godfrey Able white" It was my turn to start at that. " What can youposßibly mean ?" I exclaimed. " The marriage is considered by the whole family as a settled thing ?" " Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite is expected hereto day," she said, doggedly. " Wait till he comes —and you will see." " But my dear Rachel—" She rang the. bell at the head of her bed. The person with the cap-ribbons appeared. " Penelope! my bath." Let me give her her due. In the state of my mind, at that moment, I do sincerely believe that she had hit on the only possible way of forcing me to leave the room. She came down to breakfast, but she ate no* thing, and hardly uttered a word. After breakfast she wandered listlessly from room to room—then suddenly roused herself and opened the piano. The music she selected to play waß of the most scandalously profane sort, associated with performances on the stage which it curdles one's blood to think of. It would have been premature to interfere with her at such a time as this. I privately ascer tained the hour at which Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was expected, and then I escaped the music by leaving the house. Being out alone I took the opportunity of calling upon my two resident friends. It was an indescribable luxury to find myself indulg ing in earnest conversation with serious persons. •Infinitely encouraged and refreshed I turned my steps back again to the house, in excellent time to await the arrival of our expected visitor. I entered the dining-room, always empty at that hour of the day—and found myself face to face with Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite! He made no attempt to fly the place. Quite the contrary. He advanced to meet me with the utmost eagerness. " Dear Miss Clack, I have been only waiting to see you! Chance set me free of my London I engagements to-day sooner than I expected— and I have got here, in consequence, earlier than my appointed time." Not the slightest embarrassment encumbered his explanation, though this was his first meet ing with me after the scene in Montagu Square. He was not aware, it is true, of my having been a witness of that scene. But he knew, on the other hand, that my attendances at the Mother's- Small-Clothes, and my relations with friends attached to other charities, must have informed me of his shameless neglect of his ladies and his poor. And yet there he was before me in full possession of his charming voice and his irresist ible smile! " Have you seen Rachel yet ?" I asked. He sighed gently, and took me by the hand. I should certainly have snatched my hand away, if the manner in which he gave his answer had not paralyzed me with astonishment. " I have seen Rachel," he said, with perfect tranquility. " You are aware, dear friend, that she was engaged to me ? Well, sha has taken a sudden resolution to break the engagement. Reflection has convinced her that she will best consult her welfare and mine by retract ing a rash promise, and leaving me free to make some happier choice elsewhere. That is the only reason she will give, and the only answer she will make to every question that I can ask of her." " What have you done on your side ?" I in quired. " Have you submitted ?" His conduct, under the circumstances, waß so utterly inconceivable that I stood bewildered with my hand in his. It is a piece of rudeness to stare at anybody, and it is an act of indelicacy to stare at a gentleman. I committed both those improprieties. And I said, as if in a dream, " What does it mean ?" " Permit me to tell you," he replied. "And suppose we sit down ?" He led me to a chair. 1 have an indistinct rememberance that he was very affectionate. I don't think he put his arm round my waist to support me—but lam not sure. I was quite helpless, and his ways with ladies were very en dearing. At any rate, we sat down. I can answer for that, if I can answer for nothing more. "I have lost a beautiful girl, an excellent social position, and a handsome income," Mr. Godfrey began; " and I have submitted to it without a struggle. What can be the motive for 6uch extraordinary conduct as that ? My precious friend, there is no motive." " No motive ?" I repeated. "Let me appeal, dear Miss Clack, to your experience of children," he went on. " A child pursues a certain course of conduct. You are greatly struck by it, and you attempt to get at the motive. The dear little thing is incapable of telling you its motive. You might as well ask the grass why it grows, or the birds why they sing. Well! in tin's matter, lam like the dear little thing—like the grass—like the birds. I don't know why I made a proposal of marriage to Mis 3 Verinder. I don't know why I have shamefully neglected my dear ladies. I don't know why I have apostatised from the Mothers'- Small-Clothes. You say to the child, why have you been naughty ? And the little angel puts its finger into its mouth, and doesn't know. My case exactly, Miss Clack ! I couldn't con fess it to anybody else. I feel impelled to con fess it to you!" I. began to recover myself. A mental problem waß involved here. lam deeply interested in mental problems—and lam not, it is thought, without some skill in solving them. "Best of friends, exert your intellect, and help me," he proceeded. "Tell me—why does a time come when these matrimonial pro ceedings of mine begin to look like something done in a dream ? Why does it suddenly occur to me that my true happiness is in helping my dear ladies, in going my modest round of useful work, in Baying my few earnest words when called on by my chairman ? What do I want with a position ? I have got a position. What do I want with an income ? I can pay for my bread and cheese, and my nice little lodging, and my two coats a year. What do I want with Miss Verinder ? She has told me with her own lips (this, dear lady, is between our selves) that she loves another man, and that her only idea in marrying me is to try and put that other man out of her head. What a horrid union iB this! Oh, dear me, what a horrid union is this! Such are my reflections, Mibb Clack, on my way to Brighton. I approach Rachel with the feeling of a criminal who is going to receive his sentence. When I find that she has changed her mind too —when I hear her propose to break the engagement I experience (there is no sort of doubt about it) | a most overpowering sense of relief. A month

ago I was pressing her rapturously to my bosom. An hour ago, the happiness of knowing that I shall never press her again, intoxicated me like 'strong liquor. The thing seems im possible —the thing can't be. And yet there are ; the facts, as I had the honor of stating them ! when we first sat down together in these two ' chairs. I have lost a beautiful girl, an excel- j lent social position, and a handsome income; , and I have submitted to it without a struggle. Can you account for it, dear friend ? It's quite beyond me." ; His magnificent head sank on his breast, and | he gave up his own mental problem in despair. ' I was deeply touched. The case (if I may ! speak as a spiritual physician} was now quite plain to me. It is no uncommon event, in the experience of us all, to see the possessors of j exalted ability occasionally humbled to the level of the most poorly-gifted people about them. The object, no doubt, in the wise economy of Providence, is to remind greatness that it is mortal, and that the power which has conferred it can also take it away, It was now—to my mind—easy to discern one of these salutary humiliations in the deplorable proceedings on dear Mr. Godfrey's part, of which I had been the unseen witness. And it was equally easy to recognise the welcome reappearance of his own finer nature in the horror with which he reco:led from the idea of a marriage with Rachel, and in the charming eagerness which he showed to return to his ladies and his poor. I put this view before him in a few simple and sisterly words. His joy was beautiful to see. He compared himself, as I went on, to a lost man emerging from the darkness into the light. When I answered for a loving recep tion of him, at the Mothers-Small-Clothes, the grateful heart of our hero overflowed. He pressed my hands alternately to his lips. Overwhelmed by the exquisite triumph of hav ing got him back among us, I let him do what he liked with my hands. I closed my eyes. I felt my head, in an esstacy of spiritual self-for getfulness, Binking on his shoulder. In a moment more I should fertainly have swooned away in his arms, but for an interruption from the outer world, which brought me to myself again. A horrid rattling of knives and forks sounded outside the door, and the footman came in to lay the table for luncheon. Mr. Godfrey started up, and looked at the clock on the mantel-piece. "How time flies with you!" he exclaimed. " I shall barely catch the train." I ventured on asking why he was in such a hurry to get back to town. His answer re minded me of family difficulties that were still to be reconciled, and of family disagreements that were yet to come. " I have heard from my father," he said. " Business obliges him to leave Frizinghall for London to-day, and he proposes coming on here, either this evening or to-morrow. I must tell him what has happened between Rachel and me. His heart is set on our marriage— there will be great difficulty, I fear, in recon ciling him to the breaking-off of the engage* ment. I must stop him, for all our sakes, from coming here till he is reconciled. Best and dearest of friends, we shall meet again!" With these words he hurried out. In equal haste on my side, I ran up stairs to compose myself in my own room before meeting Aunt Ablewhite and Rachel at the luncheon-table. I am well aware—to dwell for a moment yet on the subject of Mr. Godfrey—that the all profaning opinion of the world has charged him with having his own private reasons for releas ing Rachel from her engagement, at the first opportunity she gave him. It has also reached my ears, that his anxiety to recover his place in my estimation has been attributed, in certain quarters, to a mercenary eagerness to make his peace (through me) with a venerable committee woman at the Mothers-Small-Clothes, abund antly blessed with the goods of this world, and a beloved and intimate friend of my own. I only notice these odious slanders for the sake of declaring that they never had a moment's in fluence on my mind. In obedience to my instructions, I have exhibited the fluctuations in my opinion of our hero, exactly as I find them recorded in my diary. In justice to myself, let me here add that, once reinstated in his place in my estimation, my gifted friend never lost that place again. I write with the tears in my eyes, burning to say more. But no—l am cruelly limited to my actual experi ence of persons and things. In less than a month from the time of which I am now writing, events in the money-market (which diminished even my miserable little income) forced me into foreign exile, and left me with nothing but a loving remembrance of Mr. God frey which the slander of the world has assailed, and assailed in vain. Let me dry my eyes, and return to my narra tive. I went down stairs to luncheon, naturally anxious to see how Rachel was affected by her release from her marriage engagement. It appeared to me—but I own I am a poor authority in such matters —that the recovery of her freedom had set her thinking again of that other man whom she loved, and that she was furious with herself for not being able to con trol a revulsion of feeling of which she was secretly ashamed. Who was the man ? I had my suspicions—but it wa9 needless to waste time in idle speculation. When I had con verted her, she would, as a matter of course, have no concealments from me. I should hear all about the man ; I should hear all about the Moonstone. If I had had no higher object in stirring her up to a sense of spiritual things, the motive of relieving her mind of its guilty secrets would have been enough of itself to en courage me to go on. Aunt Ablewhite took her exercise in the after noon in an invalid chair. Rachel accompanied her. " I wish I could drag the chair," she broke out, recklessly. "I wish I could fatigue myself till I was ready to drop !" She was in the same humor in the evening. I discovered in one of my friend's precious pub lications—The Life, Letters, and Labors of Miss Jane Ann Stamper, forty-fifth edition— passages which bore with a marvellous appro priateness on Rachel's present position. Upon my proposing to read them, she went to the piano. Conceive how little she must have known of serious people, if she supposed that my patience was to be exhausted in that way ! I kept Miss Jane Ann Stamper by me, and waited for events with the moßt unfaltering trust in the future. Old Mr. Ablewhite never made his appeerance that night. But I knew the importance which his worldly greed attached to his son's marriage with Miss Verinder—and I felt a positive con viction (do what Mr. Godfrey might to prevent it) that we should see him the next day. With his interference in the matter, the storm on which I had counted would certainly come, and ,

the salutary exhaustion of Rachel's resisting powers would aa certainly follow. lam not ignorant that old Mr. Ablewhite has the repu tation generally (especially among his inferiors) of being a remarkably good-natured man. Ac cording to my observation of him, he deserves his reputation as long as he has his own way, and not a moment longer. The next day, exactly as I had foreseen, Aunt Ablewhite was as near to being astonished as her nature would permit, by the sudden ap pearance of her husband. He had barely been a minute in the house, before he was followed, to my astonishment this time, by an unexpected complication, in the shape of Mr. Bruff. I never remember feeling the presence of the lawyer to be more unwelcome than I felt it at that moment. He looked ready for anything in the way of an obstructive proceeding —capable even of keeping the peace, with Rachel for one of the combatants! " This is a pleasant surprise, sir," said Mr. Ablewhite, addressing himself with his decep tive cordiality to Mr. Bruff. "When I left your office yesterday, I didn't expect to have the honor of seeing you at Brighton to-day." " I turned over our conversation in my mind, after you had gone," replied Mr. Bruff. " And it occurred to me that I might perhaps be of some use on this occasion. I was just in time to catch the train, and I had no opportunity of discovering the carriage in which you were travelling." Having given that explanation, he seated himself by Rachel, I retired modestly to a corner—with Miss Jane Ann Stamper on my lap, in case of emergency. My aunt sat at the window, placidly fanning herself a 9 usual. Mr. Ablewhite stood up in the middle of the room, with his bald head much pinker than I had ever seen it yet, and addressed himself in the moßt affectionate manner to his niece. " Rachel, my dear," he said, " I have heard some very extraordinary news from Godfrey. And lam here to enquire about it. You have a sitting-room of your own in this house. Will you honor me by showing me the way to it?" Rachel never moved. Whether she was de termined to bring matters to a crisis, or whether she was prompted by Borne private sign from Mr. Bruff, is more than I can tell. She declined doing old Mr. Ablewhite the honor of conduct ing him to her sitting-room. "Whatever you wish to say to me," she answered, " can be said here—in the presence of my relatives, and in the presence" (she looked at Mr. Bruff) " of my mother's trusted old friend." "Just as you please, my dear," said the amiable Mr. Ablewhite. He took a chair. The rest of them looked at his face—as if they ex pected it, after seventy years of worldly train ing, to speak the truth. I looked at the top of his bald head; having noticed, on other occasions, that the temper which was really in him had a habit of registering itself there. " Some weeks ago," pursued the old gentle man, " my son informed me that Miss Verinder had done him the honor to engage herself to marry him. Is it possible, Rachel, that he can have misinterpreted—or presumed upon—what you really said to him ?" "Certainly not," she replied. "I did en gage myself to marry him." "Very frankly answered!" said Mr. Able white. "And most satisfactory, my dear, so far. In respect to what happened some weeks since, Godfrey has made no mistake. The error is evidently in what he told me yesterday. I begin to see it now. You and he have had a lovers' quarrel—and my foolish son has inter preted it seriously. Ah! I should have known better than that, at his age." • The fallen nature- in Rachel—the mother Eve, so to speak—began to chafe at this. "Pray let us understand each other, Mr. Ablewhite," she said. " Nothing in the least like a quarrel took place yesterday between your son and me. If he told you that I pro posed breaking off our marriage engagement, and that he agreed on his side—he told you the truth." The self-registering thermometer at the top of Mr. Ablewhite's bald head, began to indicate a rise of temper. His face was more amiable than ever—but there was the pink at the top of his face, a shade deeper already! " Come, come, my dear," he said in his most soothing manner, "now don't be angry, and don't be hard on poor Godfrey! He has evi dently said some unfortunate thing. He was always clumsy from a child—but he means well, Rachel, he means well!" " Mr. Ablewhite, I have either expressed my self very badly, or you are purposely mistaking me. Once for all, it is a settled thing between your son and myself that we remain, for the rest of our live 9, cousins and nothing more. Is that plain onough ?" The tone in which she said those words made it impossible, even for old Mr. Ablewhite, to mistake her any longer. His thermometer went up another degree, and his voice when he next spoke, ceased to be the voice which is appropriate to a notoriously good-natured man. " I am to understand, then," he said, " that your marriage engagement is broken off?" "You are to understand that, Mr. Ablewhite, if you please." " I am also to take it as a matter of fact that the proposal to withdraw from the engagement came, in the first instance, from you ?" " It came, in the first instance, from me. And it met, as I have told you, with your son's consent and approval." The thermometer went up to the top of the register. I mean, the pink changed suddenly to scarlet. "My son is a mean-spirited hound!" cried this furious old worldling. «In justice to my self as his father— not injustice to him—l beg to ask you, Miss Verinder, what complaint you have to make of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite ?" Here Mr. Bruff interfered for the first tine. " You are not bound to answer that question," he said to Rachel. Old Mr. Ablewhite fastened on him instantly " Don t forget, sir," he said, " that you are a self-invited guest here. Your interference would have come with a better grace if you had waited till it was asked for." Mr Bruff took no notice. The smooth varnish on his wicked old face never cracked. Kachel thanked him for the advice he had given ?to her, and then turned to old Mr. Ablewhite —preserving her composure in a manner which (having regard to her age and her sex) was simply awful to see. " Your Bon put the same queation to me which you have just asked," she said. "I had only one answer for him, and I have only one answer for you. I proposed that we should release each other, because reflection had con vinced me that I should best consult his wel fare and mine by retracting a rash promise, and leaving him free to make his choice elsewhere." "What has my son done?" persisted Mr. Ablewhite. "I have a right to know that. What has my son done ?" She persisted just as obstinately on her side. " Y? u htne had tte °. nl 7 explanation which I think it necessary to give you, or to him," she answered.

'In plain English, it's your sovereign will and pleasure, Miss Verinder, to jilt my son?" Rachel was quiet for a moment. Sitting olose behind her, I beard her sigh. Mr. Bruff took* her hand, and gave it a little squeeze. She re covered herself, and answered Nr. Ablewhite as boldly as ever. "I have exposed myself to 'worse miscon struction than that," she said. " And I have borne it patiently. The time has gone by when you could mortify me by calling me a jilt." She spoke with a bitterness of tone which satisfied me that the scandal of the Moonstone had been in some way recalled to her mind. I have no more to cay," she added, wearily, not addressing ihe words to anyone in particu lar, and looking; away from us all, out of the window that was nearest to her. Mr. Ablewhite got upon his feet, and pushed away his chair so violently that it toppled over and fell on the floor. " I have eomething'more to say on my side," he announced, bringing down the flat of his hand on the table with a bang. " I have to I say that if my son doesn't feel this insult, I do!" Rachel started, and looked at him in sudden surprise. "Insult?" she repeated. "What do you mean ?" "Insult!" reiterated Mr. Ablewhite. "I know your motive, Miss Verinder, for breaking your promise to my son ! I know it as certainly as if you had confessed it in so many words. Your cursed family pride is insulting Godfrey, as it insulted me when I married your aunt. Her family —her beggarly family—turned their backs on her for marrying an honest man, who had made his own place and won his own for tune. I had>no ancestors. I wasn't descended from a set of cut-throat scoundrels who lived by robbery and murder. I couldn't point to the time when the Ablewhites hadn't a shirt to their backs, and couldn't sign their own names. Ha! ha! I wasn't good enough for the Hern castles, when I married. And, now it comes to the pinch, my son isn't good enough for you. I suspected it all along. You have got the Herncastle blood in you, my young lady ! I suspected it all a^.ong." " A very unworthy suspicion," remarked Mr. Bruff. "I am astonished that you have the courage to acknowledge it." Before Mr. Ablewhite could find words to answer in, Rachel spoke in a tone of the most exasperating contempt. " Surely," she said to the lawyer, " this is beneath notice. If he can think in that way, let us leave him to think as he pleases." From scarlet, Mr. Ablewhite was now be coming purple. He gasped for breath; he looked, backwards and forwards from Rachel to Mr. Bruff in such a frenzy of rage with both of them that he didn't know which to attack first. His wife, who had sat impenetrably fanning herself up to this time, began to be alarmed, and attempted, quite uselessly, to quiet him. I had, throughout this distressing interview, felt more than one inward call to interfere with a few earnest words, and had controlled myself under a dread of the possible results, very un worthy of a Englishwoman who looks, not to what is meanly prudent, but to what is morally right. At the point at which matters had now arrived, I rose superior to all considerations of mere expediency. If I had contemplated in terposing any remonstrance of my own humble devising, I might possibly still have hesitated. But the distressing domestic emergency which now confronted me, was most marvellously and beautifully provided for in the correspondence of Miss Jane Ann Stamper—leetter one thou sand and one, on " Peace in Families.". I rose in my modest corner, and I opened my precious book. " Dear Mr. Ablewhite," I said, " one word!" When I first attracted the attention of the company by rising, I could see that he was on the point of saying something rude to me. My sisterly form of address checked him. He stared in heathen astonishment. " As an affectionate well-wisher and friend," I proceeded, " and as one long-accustomed to arouse, convince, prepare, enlighten, and fortify others, permit me to take the most pardonable of all liberties—the liberty of composing your mind." He began to recover himself; he was on the point of breaking out—he would have broken out, with anybody else. But my voice (habit ually gentle) possesses a high note or so, in emergencies. In this emergency, I felt im peratively called upon to have the highest voice of the two. I held up my precious book before him; I rapped the open page impressively with my forefinger. "Not my words!" I exclaimed, iw. a burst of fervent interruption. "Oh, don't suppose that 1 claim attention for my humble words! Manna in the wilderness, Mr. Able white! Dew on the parched earth! Words of comfort, words of wisdom, words of love— the blessed, blessed, blessed words of Miss Jane Ann Stamper !*' I was stopped there by a momentary impedi ment of the breath. Before I could recover myself, this monster in human form shouted out furiously, " Miss Jane Ann Stamper be — !" It is impossible for me to write the awful word, which is here represented by a blank. I shrieked as it passed his lips; I flew to my little bag on the side table ; I shook out all my tracts ; I seized the one particular tract on pro fane swearing, entitled, " Hush for Heaven's Sake!" I handed it to him with an expression of agonised entreaty. He tore it in two, and threw it back at me across the table. The rest of them rose in alarm, not knowing what might happen next. I instantly sat down again in my corner. There had once been an occasion, under somewhat similar circumstances, when Miss Jane Ann Stamper had been taken by the two shoulders and turned out of a room. I waited, inspired by her spirit, for a repetition of her martyrdom. But no—it was not to be. His wife was the next persom whom he addressed. " Who—who —who," he said, stammering with rage, " asked this impudent fanatic into the house ? Did you?" Before Aunt Ablewhite could say a word, Rachel answered for her: "Miss Clack is here," she said, "as my guest." These words had a singular effect on Mr. Ablewhite. They suddenly changed him from a man in a state of red-hot anger to a man in a state of icy-cold contempt. It was plain to everybody that Rachel had said something— short and plain as her answer had been—which gave him the upper hand of her at last. "Oh ?" he said. " Miss Clack is here as you guest —in my house ?" It was Rachel's turn to lose her temper at that. Her color rose, and her eyes brightened fiercely. She turned to the lawyer, and, point ing to Mr. Ablewbite, asked, haughtily, " What does he mean ?" Mr. Bruff interfered for the third time. " You appear to forget," he said, addressing ' Mr. Ablewhite, "that you took this house as Miss Verinder's guardian, for Miss Verinder's use." " Not quite so fast," interposed Mr. Able white. " I have a last word to say, which I should have said some time since, if this " He looked my way, pondering what abominable name he should call me— "if this rampant spinster had not interrupted us. I beg to in form you, sir, that, if my son is not good enough to bo Miss Verinder's husband, I cannot pre sume to consider his father good enough to be Miss Verinder's guardian. Understand, if you please, that I refuse to accept the position which is offered to me by Lady Verinder's will. In your legal phrase, I decline to act. This house has necessarily been hired in my name. I take the entire responsibility of it on my shoulders. It is my house. I can keep it, or let it, just as I please. I have no wish to hurry Miss Ve rinder. On the contrary, I beg her to remove her guest and her luggage, at her own entire convenience." He made alow bow, and walked out of the room. That was Mr. Ablewhite's revenge on Rachel, for refusing to marry his son! The instant the door closed, Aunt Able white exhibited a phenomenon which silenced us all. She became endowed with energy enough to cross the room.' "My dear," she said, taking Rachel by the hand, " I should be ashamed of my husband, if I didn't know that it is his temper whioh has epolum to you, and not himself. You," con-

turned Aunt Ablewhite, turning on me in my corner with another endowment of energy, in her looks this time instead of her limbs—" you are the mischievous person who irritated him. °P» oull never Bee y°u or your tracts again. She went back to Rachel, and kissed her. I beg your pardon, my dear," she said, in my husband's name. What can I do for you r Consistently perver 3 e in everything—capri cious and unreasonable in all the actions of her life—Rachel melted into tears at those com mon-place words, and returned her aunt's kiss in silence. " If I may be permitted to answer for Miss Verinder," said Mr. Bruff, " might I ask yon Mrs. Ablewhite, to send Penelope down with her mistress's bonnet and shawl. Leave us ten minutes together," he added, in a lower tone, " and you may rely on my setting matters right, to your satisfaction as well as to Rachel's." The trust of the family in this man was something wonderful to see. Without a word more, on her side, Aunt Ablewhite left the room. " Ah!" said Mr. Bruff, looking after her. " The Herncastle blood has its drawbacks, I admit. But there is something in good breed ing, after all!" Having made that purely worldly remark, he looked hard at my corner, as if he expected me to go. My interest in Rachel—an infinitely higher interest than his—rivetted me to my chair. Mr. Bruff gave it up, exactly as he had given it up at Aunt Vtrinder's, in Montagu Square. He led Rachel to a chair by the window, and spoke to her there. "My dear jouug lady," he said, "Mr. Able white's conduct has naturally shocked you, and taken you by surprise. If it was worth while to contest the question with such a man, we might soon show him that he is not to have things all his own way. But it isn't worth while. You were quite right in what you said just now ; he is beneath our notice." He stopped, and looked round at my corner. I sat there quite immovable, with my tracts at my elbow, and with Miss Jane Ann Stamper on my lap. " You know," he resumed, turning back again to Rachel, " that it was part of your poor mother's line nature always to see the best of the people about her, and never the worst. She named her brother-in-law your guardian be cause she believed in him, and because she thought it would please her sister. I had never liked Mr. Ablewhite myself, and I induced your mother to let me insert a clause in the will, em powering her executors, in certain events, to consult with me about the appointment of a new guardian. One of those events has hap pened to-day; and I find myself in a position to end all these dry business details, I hope agree ably, with a message from my wife. Will you honor Mrs. Bruff by becoming her guest ? And will you remain under my roof, and be one of my family, until we wise people have laid our heads together, and have settled what id to be none next ?" At those words, I rose to interfere. Mr. Bruff had done pxaetly what I had dreaded he would do, when he asked Mrs. Ablewhite for Rachel's bonnet and shawl. Before I could interpose a word, Rachel hafl accepted his invitation in the warmest terms. If I suffered the arrangement thus made be tween them to be carried out—if she once passed the threshold of Mr. Bruff's door—fare well to the fondest hope of my life, the hope of bringing my lost sheep back to the fold! The bare idea of such a calamity as this quite over whelmed me. I cast the miserable trammels of worldly discretion to the winds, and spoke with the fervour that filled me, in the words that came first. "Stop!" I Baid—"stop! I must be heard. Mr. Bruff! you are not related to her, and lam. I invite her—l summon the executors to appoint me guardian. Rachel, dearest Rachel, I offer you my modest home; come to London by the next train, love, and share it with me.'" Mr. Bruff said nothing. Rachel looked at me with a cruel astonishment which she made no effort to conceal. " You are very kind, Drusilla," she said. " I shall hope to visit you whenever I happen to be in London. But I have accepted Mr. BruflTs invitation, and I think it will be best, for the present, if I remain under Mr. Bruff's care." "Oh, don't say so!" I pleaded. "I can't part with you, Rachel,—l can't part with you!" I tried to fold her in my arms. But she drew back. My fervour did not communicate itself; it only alarmed her. " Surely," she said, " this is a very unneces sary display of agitation ? I don't understand it." " No more do I," said Mr. Bruff. Their hardness—their hideous, worldly hard ness—revolted me. "Oh, Rachel! Rachel!" I burst out. " Haven't you seen yet, that my heart yearns to make a disciple of you ? Has no inner voice told you that I am trying to do for you what I was trying to do for your dear mother when death snatched her out of my hands ? Rachel advanced a step nearer, and looked at me very strangely. " I don't understand ypu reference to my mother," she said. " Miss Clack, will you have the goodness to explain yourself?" Before I could answer, Mr. Bruff came for ward, and offering his arm to Rachel, tried to lead he out of the room. " You had better not pursue the subjeot, my dear," he said. " And Miss Clack had better not explain herself." If I had been a stock or a stone, such an in terference as this must have roused me into testifying to the truth. I put Mr. Bruff aside indignantly with my own hand, and, in solemn and suitable language, I stated the view with which sound doctrine does not scruple to re gard the awful calamity of djing unprepared. Rachel started back from me—l blush to write it —with a scream of horror. " Come away!" she said to Mr. Bruff. " Come away, for God's sake, before that wo man can say any more! Oh, think of my poor mother's harmless, useful, beautiful life! You were at the funeral, Mr. Bruff; you saw how everybody loved her; you saw the poor helpless people crying at her grave over the loss of their best friend. And that wretch stands there, and tries to make mo doubt that my mother, who was an angel on earth, is an angel in Heaven now! Don't stop to talk about it! Come away! It Btifles mo to breathe the same air with her! It frightens me to feel that we art in the same room together!" Deaf to all remonstrance she ran to the door. At the same moment her maid entered with her bonnet and shawl. She huddled them on anyhow. " Pack my things," she said, " and bring them to Mr. Bruff's." I attempted to approach her—l was shocked and grieved, but, it is needless to say, not offended. I only wished to say to her, " May your hard heart be softened! I freely forgive you!" She pulled down her veil, and tore her shawl a way. from my hand, and, hurrying out, shut the door in my face. I bore the inault with my customary fortitude. I remember it now with my custom ary superiority to all feeling of offence. Mr. Bruff had his parting word of mockery for me, before he too hurried out, in his turn. " You had better not have explained yourself, Miss Clack," he said, and bowed and left the room. The person with the cap-ribbons followed. "It's easy to see who has set them all by the ears together," she said. "I'm only a poor servant—but I declare I'm ashamed of you!" She too went out, and banged the door after her. I was left alone in the room. Reviled by them all, deserted by them all; I was left alone in the room. Is there more to be added to this plain state ment of facts—to this touching picture of one persecuted by the world? No! my diary reminds me that one more of the many chequered chapters in my life ends here. From that day forth, I never saw Rachel Verin der again. She had my forgiveness at the time when she insulted me. She has had my prayer ful good wishes ever since. And when I die— to completo the return on my part of good for ovil—she will have the Life, Letters, and Labors of Miss Jane ,4.nn Stamper loft her as 9 legacy by my will. [TO VIC CONTINUED.]