"But it is what I have in view, Mr. Gotobed;—so if you please we'll take the pre-eminence of your country for granted." Then she turned to Mr. Mainwaring on the other side. Upon this the Senator addressed himself for a while to the table at large and had soon forgotten altogether the expression of the lady's wishes.

"I believe you have a good many churches about here," said Lady Augustus trying to make conversation to her neighbour.

"One in every parish, I fancy," said Mr. Mainwaring, who preferred all subjects to clerical subjects. "I suppose London is quite empty now."

"We came direct from the Duke's," said Lady Augustus, "and did not even sleep in town;—but it is empty." The Duke was the brother of Lord Augustus, and a compromise had been made with Lady Augustus, by which she and her daughter should be allowed a fortnight every year at the Duke's place in the country, and a certain amount of entertainment in town.

"I remember the Duke at Christchurch," said the parson. "He and I were of the same par. He was Lord Mistletoe then. Dear me, that was a long time ago. I wonder whether he remembers being upset out of a trap with me one day after dinner. I suppose we had dined in earnest. He has gone his way, and I have gone mine, and I've never seen him since. Pray remember me to him." Lady Augustus said she would, and did entertain some little increased respect for the clergyman who could boast that he had been tipsy in company with her worthy brother-in-law.

Poor Mr. Cooper did not get on very well with Mrs. Morton. All his remembrances of the old squire were eulogistic and affectionate. Hers were just the reverse. He had a good word to say for Reginald Morton,—to which she would not even listen. She was willing enough to ask questions about the Mallingham tenants;—but Mr. Cooper would revert back to the old days, and so conversation was at an end.

Morton tried to make himself agreeable to his left-hand neighbour, trying also very hard to make himself believe that he was happy in his immediate position. How often in the various amusements of the world is one tempted to pause a moment and ask oneself whether one really likes it! He was conscious that he was working hard, struggling to be happy, painfully anxious to be sure that he was enjoying the luxury of being in love. But he was not at all contented. There she was, and very beautiful she looked; and he thought that he could be proud of her if she sat at the end of his table;—and he knew that she was engaged to be his wife. But he doubted whether she was in love with him; and he almost doubted sometimes whether he was very much in love with her. He asked her in so many words what he should do to amuse her. Would she like to ride with him, as if so he would endeavour to get saddle-horses. Would she like to go out hunting? Would she be taken round to see the neighbouring towns, Rufford and Norrington? "Lord Rufford lives somewhere near Rufford?" she asked. Yes; he lived at Rufford Hall, three or four miles from the town. Did Lord Rufford hunt? Morton believed that he was greatly given to hunting. Then he asked Arabella whether she knew the young lord. She had just met him, she said, and had only asked the question because of the name. "He is one of my neighbours down here," said Morton;—"but being always away of course I see nothing of him." After that Arabella consented to be taken out on horseback to see a meet of the hounds although she could not hunt. "We must see what we can do about horses," he said. She however professed her readiness to go in the carriage if a saddle-horse could not be found.

The dinner party I fear was very dull. Mr. Mainwaring perhaps liked it because he was fond of dining anywhere away from home. Mr. Cooper was glad once more to see his late old friend's old dining-room. Mr. Gotobed perhaps obtained some information. But otherwise the affair was dull. "Are we to have a week of this?" said Lady Augustus when she found herself up-stairs.

"You must, mamma, if we are to stay till we go to the Gores. Lord Rufford is here in the neighbourhood."

"But they don't know each other."

"Yes they do;—slightly. I am to go to the meet someday and he'll be there."

"It might be dangerous."

"Nonsense, mamma! And after all you've been saying about dropping Mr. Morton!"

"But there is nothing so bad as a useless flirtation."

"Do I ever flirt? Oh, mamma, that after so many years you shouldn't know me! Did you ever see me yet making myself happy in any way? What nonsense you talk!" Then without waiting for, or making, any apology, she walked off to her own room.



CHAPTER XIV

The Dillsborough Feud

"It's that nasty, beastly, drunken club," said Mrs. Masters to her unfortunate husband on the Wednesday morning. It may perhaps be remembered that the poisoned fox was found on the Saturday, and it may be imagined that Mr. Goarly had risen in importance since that day. On the Saturday Bean with a couple of men employed by Lord Rufford, had searched the wood, and found four or five red herrings poisoned with strychnine. There had been no doubt about the magnitude of the offence. On the Monday a detective policeman, dressed of course in rustic disguise but not the less known to every one in the place, was wandering about between Dillsborough and Dillsborough Wood and making futile inquiries as to the purchase of strychnine,—and also as to the purchase of red herrings. But every one knew, and such leading people as Runciman and Dr. Nupper were not slow to declare, that Dillsborough was the only place in England in which one might be sure that those articles had not been purchased. And on the Tuesday it began to be understood that Goarly had applied to Bearside, the other attorney, in reference to his claim against Lord Rufford's pheasants. He had contemptuously refused the 7s. 6d. an acre offered him, and put his demand at 40s. As to the poisoned fox and the herrings and the strychnine Goarly declared that he didn't care if there were twenty detectives in the place. He stated it to be his opinion that Larry Twentyman had put down the poison. It was all very well, Goarly said, for Larry to be fond of gentlemen and to ride to hounds, and make pretences;—but Larry liked his turkeys as well as anybody else, and Larry had put down the poison. In this matter Goarly overreached himself. No one in Dillsborough could be brought to believe that. Even Harry Stubbings was ready to swear that he should suspect himself as soon. But nothing was clearer than this,—that Goarly was going to make a stand against the hunt and especially against Lord Rufford. He had gone to Bearside and Bearside had taken up the matter in a serious way. Then it became known very quickly that Bearside had already received money, and it was surmised that Goarly had some one at his back. Lord Rufford had lately ejected from a house of his on the other side of the county a discontented litigious retired grocer from Rufford, who had made some money and had set himself up in a pretty little residence with a few acres of land. The man had made himself objectionable and had been dispossessed. The man's name was Scrobby; and hence had come these sorrows. This was the story that had already made itself known in Dillsborough on the Tuesday evening. But up to that time not a tittle of evidence had come to light as to the purchase of the red herrings or the strychnine. All that was known was the fact that had not Tony Tuppett stopped the hounds before they reached the wood, there must have been a terrible mortality. "It's that nasty, beastly, drunken club," said Mrs. Masters to her husband. Of course it was at this time known to the lady that her husband had thrown away Goarly's business and that it had been transferred to Bearside. It was also surmised by her, as it was by the town in general, that Goarly's business would come to considerable dimensions;—just the sort of case as would have been sure to bring popularity if carried through, as Nickem, the senior clerk, would have carried it. And as soon as Scrobby's name was heard by Mrs. Masters, there was no end to the money in the lady's imagination to which this very case might not have amounted.

"The club had nothing to do with it, my dear."

"What time did you come home on Saturday night;—or Sunday morning I mean? Do you mean to tell me you didn't settle it there?"

"There was no nastiness, and no beastliness, and no drunkenness about it. I told you before I went that I wouldn't take it"

"No;—you didn't. How on earth are you to go on if you chuck the children's bread out of their mouths in that way?"

"You won't believe me. Do you ask Twentyman what sort of a man Goarly is." The attorney knew that Larry was in great favour with his wife as being the favoured suitor for Mary's hand, and had thought that this argument would be very strong.

"I don't want Mr. Twentyman to teach me what is proper for my family,—nor yet to teach you your business. Mr. Twentyman has his own way of living. He brought home Kate the other day with hardly a rag of her sister's habit left. She don't go out hunting any more."

"Very well, my dear."

"Indeed for the matter of that I don't see how any of them are to do anything. What'll Lord Rufford do for you?"

"I don't want Lord Rufford to do anything for me." The attorney was beginning to have his spirit stirred within him.

"You don't want anybody to do anything, and yet you will do nothing yourself, just because a set of drinking fellows in a tap-room, which you call a club—"

"It isn't a tap-room."

"It's worse, because nobody can see what you're doing. I know how it was. You hadn't the pluck to hold to your own when Runciman told you not" There was a spice of truth in this which made it all the more bitter. "Runciman knows on which side his bread is buttered. He can make his money out of these swearing-tearing fellows. He can send in his bills, and get them paid too. And it's all very well for Larry Twentyman to be hobbing and nobbing with the likes of them Botseys. But for a father of a family like you to be put off his business by what Mr. Runciman says is a shame."

"I shall manage my business as I think fit," said the attorney.

"And when we're all in the poor-house what'll you do then?" said Mrs. Masters,—with her handkerchief out at the spur of the moment. Whenever she roused her husband to a state of bellicose ire by her taunts she could always reduce him again by her tears. Being well aware of this he would bear the taunts as long as he could, knowing that the tears would be still worse. He was so soft-hearted that when she affected to be miserable, he could not maintain the sternness of his demeanour and leave her in her misery. "When everything has gone away from us, what are we to do? My little bit of money has disappeared ever so long." Then she sat herself down in her chair and had a great cry. It was useless for him to remind her that hitherto she had never wanted anything for herself or her children. She was resolved that everything was going to the dogs because Goarly's case had been refused. "And what will all those sporting men do for you?" she repeated. "I hate the very name of a gentleman;—so I do. I wish Goarly had killed all the foxes in the county. Nasty vermin! What good are the likes of them?"

Nickem, the senior clerk, was at first made almost as unhappy as Mrs. Masters by the weak decision to which his employer had come, and had in the first flush of his anger resolved to leave the office. He was sure that the case was one which would just have suited him. He would have got up the evidence as to the fertility of the land, the enormous promise of crop, and the ultimate absolute barrenness, to a marvel. He would have proved clouds of pheasants. And then Goarly's humble position, futile industry, and general poverty might have been contrasted beautifully with Lord Rufford's wealth, idleness, and devotion to sport. Anything above the 7s. 6d. an acre obtained against the lord would have been a triumph, and he thought that if the thing had been well managed, they might probably have got 15s. And then, in such a case, Lord Rufford could hardly have taxed the costs. It was really suicide for an attorney to throw away business so excellent as this. And now it had gone to Bearside whom Nickem remembered as a junior to himself when they were both young hobbledehoys at Norrington,—a dirty, blear-eyed, pimply-faced boy who was suspected of purloining halfpence out of coat-pockets. The thing was very trying to Nat Nickem. But suddenly, before that Wednesday was over, another idea had occurred to him, and he was almost content. He knew Goarly, and he had heard of Scrobby and Scrobby's history in regard to the tenement at Rufford. As he could not get Goarly's case why should he not make something of the case against Goarly? That detective was merely eking out his time and having an idle week among the public-houses. If he could set himself up as an amateur detective he thought that he might perhaps get to the bottom of it all. It is not a bad thing to be concerned on the same side with a lord when the lord is in earnest. Lord Rufford was very angry about the poison in the covert and would probably be ready to pay very handsomely for having the criminal found and punished. The criminal of course was Goarly. Nickem did not doubt that for a moment, and would not have doubted it whichever side he might have taken. Nickem did not suppose that any one for a moment really doubted Goarly's guilt. But to his eyes such certainty amounted to nothing, if evidence of the crime were not forthcoming. He probably felt within his own bosom that the last judgment of all would depend in some way on terrestrial evidence, and was quite sure that it was by such that a man's conscience should be affected. If Goarly had so done the deed as to be beyond the possibility of detection, Nickem could not have brought himself to regard Goarly as a sinner. As it was he had considerable respect for Goarly;—but might it not be possible to drop down upon Scrobby? Bearside with his case against the lord would be nowhere, if Goarly could be got to own that he had been suborned by Scrobby to put down the poison. Or, if in default of this, any close communication could be proved between Goarly and Scrobby,—Scrobby's injury and spirit of revenge being patent,—then too Bearside would not have much of a case. A jury would look at that question of damages with a very different eye if Scrobby's spirit of revenge could be proved at the trial, and also the poisoning, and also machinations between Scrobby and Goarly.

Nickem was a little red-haired man about forty, who wrote a good flourishing hand, could endure an immense amount of work, and drink a large amount of alcohol without being drunk. His nose and face were all over blotches, and he looked to be dissipated and disreputable. But, as he often boasted, no one could say that "black was the white of his eye;"—by which he meant to insinuate that he had not been detected in anything dishonest and that he was never too tipsy to do his work. He was a married man and did not keep his wife and children in absolute comfort; but they lived, and Mr. Nickem in some fashion paid his way.

There was another clerk in the office, a very much younger man, named Sundown, and Nickem could not make his proposition to Mr. Masters till Sundown had left the office. Nickem himself had only matured his plans at dinner time and was obliged to be reticent, till at six o'clock Sundown took himself off. Mr. Masters was, at the moment, locking his own desk, when Nickem winked at him to stay. Mr. Masters did stay, and Sundown did at last leave the office.

"You couldn't let me leave home for three days?" said Nickem. "There ain't much a doing."

"What do you want it for?"

"That Goarly is a great blackguard, Mr. Masters."

"Very likely. Do you know anything about him?"

Nickem scratched his head and rubbed his chin. "I think I could manage to know something."

"In what way?"

"I don't think I'm quite prepared to say, sir. I shouldn't use your name of course. But they're down upon Lord Rufford, and if you could lend me a trifle of 30s., sir, I think I could get to the bottom of it. His lordship would be awful obliged to any one who could hit it off"

Mr. Masters did give his clerk leave for three days, and did advance him the required money. And when he suggested in a whisper that perhaps the circumstance need not be mentioned to Mrs. Masters, Nickem winked again and put his fore-finger to the side of his big carbuncled nose.

That evening Larry Twentyman came in, but was not received with any great favour by Mrs. Masters. There was growing up at this moment in Dillsborough the bitterness of real warfare between the friends and enemies of sport in general, and Mrs. Masters was ranking herself thereby among the enemies. Larry was of course one of the friends. But unhappily there was a slight difference of sentiment even in Larry's own house, and on this very morning old Mrs. Twentyman had expressed to Mrs. Masters a feeling of wrong which had gradually risen from the annual demolition of her pet broods of turkeys. She declared that for the last three years every turkey poult had gone, and that at last she was beginning to feel it. "It's over a hundred of 'em they've had, and it is wearing," said the old woman. Larry had twenty times begged her to give up the rearing turkeys, but her heart had been too high for that. "I don't know why Lord Rufford's foxes are to be thought of always, and nobody is to think about your poor mother's poultry," said Mrs. Masters, lugging the subject in neck and heels.

"Has she been talking to you, Mrs. Masters, about her turkeys?"

"Your mother may speak to me I suppose if she likes it, without offence to Lord Rufford."

"Lord Rufford has got nothing to do with it"

"The wood belongs to him," said Mrs. Masters.

"Foxes are much better than turkeys anyway," said Kate Masters.

"If you don't hold your tongue, miss, you'll be sent to bed. The wood belongs to his lordship, and the foxes are a nuisance."

"He keeps the foxes for the county, and where would the county be without them?" began Larry. "What is it brings money into such a place as this?"

"To Runciman's stables and Harry Stubbings and the like of them. What money does it bring in to steady honest people?"

"Look at all the grooms," said Larry.

"The impudentest set of young vipers about the place," said the lady.

"Look at Grice's business." Grice was the saddler.

"Grice indeed! What's Grice?"

"And the price of horses?"

"Yes;—making everything dear that ought to be cheap. I don't see and I never shall see and I never will see any good in extravagant idleness. As for Kate she shall never go out hunting again. She has torn Mary's habit to pieces. And shooting is worse. Why is a man to have a flock of voracious cormorants come down upon his corn fields? I'm The American Senator, all in favour of Goarly, and so, I tell you, Mr. Twentyman." After this poor Larry went away, finding that he had no opportunity for saying a word to Mary Masters.



CHAPTER XV

A fit Companion,—for me and my Sisters

On that same Wednesday Reginald Morton had called at the attorney's house, had asked for Miss Masters, and had found her alone. Mrs. Masters at the time had been out, picking up intelligence about the great case, and the two younger girls had been at school. Reginald, as he walked home from Bragton all alone on that occasion when Larry had returned with Mary, was quite sure that he would never willingly go into Mary's presence again. Why should he disturb his mind about such a girl,—one who could rush into the arms of such a man as Larry Twentyman? Or, indeed, why disturb his mind about any girl? That was not the manner of life which he planned for himself. After that he shut himself up for a few days and was not much seen by any of the Dillsborough folk. But on this Wednesday he received a letter, and,—as he told himself, merely in consequence of that letter,—he called at the attorney's house and asked for Miss Masters.

He was shown up into the beautiful drawing-room, and in a few minutes Mary came to him. "I have brought you a letter from my aunt," he said.

"From Lady Ushant? I am so glad."

"She was writing to me and she put this under cover. I know what it contains. She wants you to go to her at Cheltenham for a month."

"Oh, Mr. Morton!"

"Would you like to go?"

"How should I not like to go? Lady Ushant is my dearest, dearest friend. It is so very good of her to think of me."

"She talks of the first week in December and wants you to be there for Christmas."

"I don't at all know that I can go, Mr. Morton"

"Why not go?"

"I'm afraid mamma will not spare me." There were many reasons. She could hardly go on such a visit without some renewal of her scanty wardrobe, which perhaps the family funds would not permit. And, as she knew very well, Mrs. Masters was not at all favourable to Lady Ushant. If the old lady had altogether kept Mary it might have been very well; but she had not done so and Mrs. Masters had more than once said that that kind of thing must be all over;—meaning that Mary was to drop her intimacy with high-born people that were of no real use. And then there was Mr. Twentyman and his suit. Mary had for some time felt that her step-mother intended her to understand that her only escape from home would be by becoming Mrs. Twentyman. "I don't think it will be possible, Mr. Morton."

"My aunt will be very sorry."

"Oh,—how sorry shall I be! It is like having another little bit of heaven before me."

Then he said what he certainly should not have said. "I thought, Miss Masters, that your heaven was all here."

"What do you mean by that, Mr. Morton?" she asked blushing up to her hair. Of course she knew what he meant, and of course she was angry with him. Ever since that walk her mind had been troubled by ideas as to what he would think about her, and now he was telling her what he thought.

"I fancied that you were happy here without going to see an old woman who after all has not much amusement to offer to you."

"I don't want any amusement."

"At any rate you will answer Lady Ushant?"

"Of course I shall answer her."

"Perhaps you can let me know. She wishes me to take you to Cheltenham. I shall go for a couple of days, but I shall not stay longer. If you are going perhaps you would allow me to travel with you."

"Of course it would be very kind; but I don't suppose that I shall go. I am sure Lady Ushant won't believe that I am kept away from her by any pleasure of my own here. I can explain it all to her and she will understand me." She hardly meant to reproach him. She did not mean to assume an intimacy sufficient for reproach. But he felt that she had reproached him. "I love Lady Ushant so dearly that I would go anywhere to see her if I could."

"Then I think it could be managed. Your father——"

"Papa does not attend much to us girls. It is mamma that manages all that. At any rate, I will write to Lady Ushant, and will ask papa to let you know"

Then it seemed as though there were nothing else for him but to go;—and yet he wanted to say some other word. If he had been cruel in throwing Mr. Twentyman in her teeth, surely he ought to apologize. "I did not mean to say anything to offend you."

"You have not offended me at all, Mr. Morton."

"If I did think that,—that——"

"It does not signify in the least. I only want Lady Ushant to understand that if I could possibly go to her I would rather do that than anything else in the world. Because Lady Ushant is kind to me I needn't expect other people to be so." Reginald Morton was of course the "other people."

Then he paused a moment. "I did so long," he said, "to walk round the old place with you the other day before these people came there, and I was so disappointed when you would not come with me."

"I was coming."

"But you went back with—that other man"

"Of course I did when you showed so plainly that you didn't want him to join you. What was I to do? I couldn't send him away. Mr. Twentyman is a very intimate friend of ours, and very kind to Dolly and Kate."

"I wished so much to talk to you about the old days."

"And I wish to go for your aunt, Mr. Morton; but we can't all of us have what we wish. Of course I saw that you were very angry, but I couldn't help that. Perhaps it was wrong in Mr. Twentyman to offer to walk with you."

"I didn't say so at all."

"You looked it at any rate, Mr. Morton. And as Mr. Twentyman is a friend of ours—"

"You were angry with me."

"I don't say that. But as you were too grand for our friend of course you were too grand for us."

"That is a very unkind way of putting it. I don't think I am grand. A man may wish to have a little conversation with a very old friend without being interrupted, and yet not be grand. I dare say Mr. Twentyman is just as good as I am."

"You don't think that, Mr. Morton"

"I believe him to be a great deal better, for he earns his bread, and takes care of his mother, and as far as I know does his duty thoroughly."

"I know the difference, Mr. Morton, and of course I know how you feel it. I don't suppose that Mr. Twentyman is a fit companion for any of the Mortons, but for all that he may be a fit companion for me,—and my sisters." Surely she must have said this with the express object of declaring to him that in spite of the advantages of her education she chose to put herself in the ranks of the Twentymans, Runcimans and such like. He had come there ardently wishing that she might be allowed to go to his aunt, and resolved that he would take her himself if it were possible. But now he almost thought that she had better not go. If she had made her election, she must be allowed to abide by it. If she meant to marry Mr. Twentyman what good could she get by associating with his aunt or with him? And had she not as good as told him that she meant to marry Mr. Twentyman? She had at any rate very plainly declared that she regarded Mr. Twentyman as her equal in rank. Then he took his leave without any further explanation. Even if she did go to Cheltenham he would not take her.

After that he walked straight out to Bragton. He was of course altogether unconscious what grand things his cousin John had intended to do by him, had not the Honourable old lady interfered; but he had made up his mind that duty required him to call at the house. So he walked by the path across the bridge and when he came out on the gravel road near the front door he found a gentleman smoking a cigar and looking around him. It was Mr. Gotobed who had just returned from a visit which he had made, the circumstances of which must be narrated in the next chapter. The Senator lifted his hat and remarked that it was a very fine afternoon. Reginald lifted his hat and assented. "Mr. Morton, Sir, I think is out with the ladies, taking a drive."

"I will leave a card then."

"The old lady is at home, sir, if you wish to see her," continued the Senator following Reginald up to the door.

"Oh, Mr. Reginald, is that you?" said old Mrs. Hopkins taking the card. "They are all out,—except herself." As he certainly did not wish to see "herself," he greeted the old woman and left his card.

"You live in these parts, sir?" asked the Senator.

"In the town yonder."

"Because Mr. Morton's housekeeper seems to know you."

"She knows me very well as I was brought up in this house. Good morning to you."

"Good afternoon to you, sir. Perhaps you can tell me who lives in that country residence,—what you call a farm-house,—on the other side of the road." Reginald said that he presumed the gentleman was alluding to Mr. Twentyman's house.

"Ah, yes,—I dare say. That was the name I heard up there. You are not Mr. Twentyman, sir?"

"My name is Morton"

"Morton is it;—perhaps my friend's;—ah—ah,—yes." He didn't like to say uncle because Reginald didn't look old enough, and he knew he ought not to say brother, because the elder brother in England would certainly have had the property.

"I am Mr. John Morton's cousin."

"Oh;—Mr. Morton's cousin. I asked whether you were the owner of that farm-house because I intruded just now by passing through the yards, and I would have apologized. Good afternoon to you, sir." Then Reginald having thus done his duty returned home.

Mary Masters when she was alone was again very angry with herself. She knew thoroughly how perverse she had been when she declared that Larry Twentyman was a fit companion for herself, and that she had said it on purpose to punish the man who was talking to her. Not a day passed, or hardly an hour of a day, in which she did not tell herself that the education she had received and the early associations of her life had made her unfit for the marriage which her friends were urging upon her. It was the one great sorrow of her life. She even repented of the good things of her early days because they had given her a distaste for what might have otherwise been happiness and good fortune. There had been moments in which she had told herself that she ought to marry Larry Twentyman and adapt herself to the surroundings of her life. Since she had seen Reginald Morton frequently, she had been less prone to tell herself so than before; and yet to this very man she had declared her fitness for Larry's companionship!



CHAPTER XVI

Mr. Gotobed's Philanthropy

Mr. Gotobed, when the persecutions of Goarly were described to him at the scene of the dead fox, had expressed considerable admiration for the man's character as portrayed by what he then heard. The man,—a poor man too and despised in the land, was standing up for his rights, all alone, against the aristocracy and plutocracy of the county. He had killed the demon whom the aristocracy and plutocracy worshipped, and had appeared there in arms ready to defend his own territory,—one against so many, and so poor a man against men so rich! The Senator had at once said that he would call upon Mr. Goarly, and the Senator was a man who always carried out his purposes. Afterwards, from John Morton, and from others who knew the country better than Morton, he learned further particulars. On the Monday and Tuesday he fathomed,—or nearly fathomed,—that matter of the 7s. 6d. an acre. He learned at any rate that the owner of the wood admitted a damage done by him to the corn and had then, himself, assessed the damage without consultation with the injured party; and he was informed also that Goarly was going to law with the lord for a fuller compensation. He liked Goarly for killing the fox, and he liked him more for going to law with Lord Rufford.

He declared openly at Bragton his sympathy with the man and his intention of expressing it. Morton was annoyed and endeavoured to persuade him to leave the man alone; but in vain. No doubt had he expressed himself decisively and told his friend that he should be annoyed by a guest from his house taking part in such a matter, the Senator would have abstained and would merely have made one more note as to English peculiarities and English ideas of justice; but Morton could not bring himself to do this. "The feeling of the country will be altogether against you," he had said, hoping to deter the Senator. The Senator had replied that though the feeling of that little bit of the country might be against him he did not believe that such would be the case with the feeling of England generally. The ladies had all become a little afraid of Mr. Gotobed and hardly dared to express an opinion. Lady Augustus did say that she supposed that Goarly was a low vulgar fellow, which of course strengthened the Senator in his purpose.

The Senator on Wednesday would not wait for lunch but started a little before one with a crust of bread in his pocket to find his way to Goarly's house. There was no difficulty in this as he could see the wood as soon as he had got upon the high road. He found Twentyman's gate and followed directly the route which the hunting party had taken, till he came to the spot on which the crowd had been assembled. Close to this there was a hand-gate leading into Dillsborough wood, and standing in the gateway was a man. The Senator thought that this might not improbably be Goarly himself, and asked the question, "Might your name be Mr. Goarly, sir?"

"Me Goarly!" said the man in infinite disgust. "I ain't nothing of the kind,—and you knows it" That the man should have been annoyed at being taken for Goarly, that man being Bean the gamekeeper who would willingly have hung Goarly if he could, and would have thought it quite proper that a law should be now passed for hanging him at once, was natural enough. But why he should have told the Senator that the Senator knew he was not Goarly it might be difficult to explain. He probably at once regarded the Senator as an enemy, as a man on the other side, and therefore as a cunning knave who would be sure to come creeping about on false pretences. Bean, who had already heard of Bearside and had heard of Scrobby in connection with this matter, looked at the Senator very hard. He knew Bearside. The man certainly was not the attorney, and from what he had heard of Scrobby be didn't think he was Scrobby. The man was not like what in his imagination Scrobby would be. He did not know what to make of Mr. Gotobed,—who was a person of an imposing appearance, tall and thin, with a long nose and look of great acuteness, dressed in black from head to foot, but yet not looking quite like an English gentleman. He was a man to whom Bean in an ordinary way would have been civil,—civil in a cold guarded way; but how was he to be civil to anybody who addressed him as Goarly?

"I did not know it," said the Senator. "As Goarly lives near here I thought you might be Goarly. When I saw Goarly he had a gun, and you have a gun. Can you tell me where Goarly lives?"

"Tother side of the wood," said Bean pointing back with his thumb. "He never had a gun like this in his hand in all his born days."

"I dare say not, my friend. I can go through the wood I guess;" for Bean had pointed exactly over the gateway.

"I guess you can't then," said Bean. The man who, like other gamekeepers, lived much in the company of gentlemen, was ordinarily a civil courteous fellow, who knew how to smile and make things pleasant. But at this moment he was very much put out. His covert had been found full of red herrings and strychnine, and his fox had been poisoned. He had lost his guinea on the day of the hunt, the guinea which would have been his perquisite had they found a live fox in his wood. And all this was being done by such a fellow as Goarly! And now this abandoned wretch was bringing an action against his Lordship and was leagued with such men as Scrobby and Bearside! It was a dreadful state of things! How was it likely that he should give a passage through the wood to anybody coming after Goarly? "You're on Mr. Twentyman's land now, as I dare say you know."

"I don't know anything about it"

"Well; that wood is Lord Rufford's wood."

"I did know as much as that, certainly."

"And you can't go into it."

"How shall I find Mr. Goarly's house?"

"If you'll get over that there ditch you'll be on Mister Goarly's land and that's all about it" Bean as he said this put a strongly ironical emphasis on the term of respect and then turned back into the wood.

The Senator made his way down the fence to the bank on which Goarly had stood with his gun, then over into Goarly's field, and so round the back of the wood till he saw a small red brick house standing perhaps four hundred yards from the covert, just on the elbow of a lane. It was a miserable-looking place with a pigsty and a dung heap and a small horse-pond or duck-puddle all close around it. The stack of chimneys seemed to threaten to fall, and as he approached from behind he could see that the two windows opening that way were stuffed with rags. There was a little cabbage garden which now seemed to be all stalks, and a single goose waddling about the duck-puddle. The Senator went to the door, and having knocked, was investigated by a woman from behind it. Yes, this was Goarly's house. What did the gentleman want? Goarly was at work in the field. Then she came out, the Senator having signified his friendly intentions, and summoned Goarly to the spot.

"I hope I see you well, sir," said the Senator putting out his hand as Goarly came up dragging a dung-York behind him.

Goarly rubbed his hand on his breeches before he gave it to be shaken and declared himself to be "pretty tidy, considering."

"I was present the other day, Mr. Goarly, when that dead fox was exposed to view."

"Was you, sir?"

"I was given to understand that you had destroyed the brute."

"Don't you believe a word on it then," said the woman interposing. "He didn't do nothing of the kind. Who ever seed him a' buying of red herrings and p'ison?"

"Hold your jaw," said Goarly,—familiarly. "Let 'em prove it. I don't know who you are, sir; but let 'em prove it"

"My name, Mr. Goarly, is Elias Gotobed. I am an American citizen, and Senator for the State of Mickewa." Mr. and Mrs. Goarly shook their heads at every separate item of information tendered to them. "I am on a visit to this country and am at present staying at the house of my friend, Mr. John Morton."

"He's the gentl'man from Bragton, Dan."

"Hold your jaw, can't you?" said the husband. Then he touched his hat to the Senator intending to signify that the Senator might, if he pleased, continue his narrative.

"If you did kill that fox, Mr. Goarly, I think you were quite right to kill him." Then Goarly winked at him, "I cannot imagine that even the laws of England could justify a man in perpetuating a breed of wild animals that are destructive to his neighbours' property."

"I could shoot 'un; not a doubt about that, Mister. I could shoot 'un; and I wull."

"Have a care, Dan," whispered Mrs. Goarly.

"Hold your jaw,—will ye? I could shoot 'un, Mister. I don't rightly know about p'ison."

"That fox we saw was poisoned I suppose," said the Senator carelessly.

"Have a care, Dan;—have a care!" whispered the wife.

"Allow me to assure both of you," said the Senator, "that you need fear nothing from me. I have come quite as a friend."

"Thank 'ee, sir," said Goarly again touching his hat.

"It seems to me," said the Senator, "that in this matter a great many men are leagued together against you."

"You may say that, sir. I didn't just catch your name, sir."

"My name is Gotobed;—Gotobed; Elias Gotobed, Senator from the State of Mickewa to the United States Congress." Mrs. Goarly who understood nothing of all these titles, and who had all along doubted, dropped a suspicious curtsey. Goarly, who understood a little now, took his hat altogether off. He was very much puzzled but inclined to think that if he managed matters rightly, profit might be got out of this very strange meeting. "In my country, Mr. Goarly, all men are free and equal."

"That's a fine thing, sir."

"It is a fine thing, my friend, if properly understood and properly used. Coming from such a country I was shocked to see so many rich men banded together against one who I suppose is not rich."

"Very far from it," said the woman.

"It's my own land, you know," said Goarly who was proud of his position as a landowner. "No one can't touch me on it, as long as the rates is paid. I'm as good a man here,"—and he stamped his foot on the ground,—"as his Lordship is in that there wood."

This was the first word spoken by the Goarlys that had pleased the Senator, and this set him off again. "Just so;—and I admire a man that will stand up for his own rights. I am told that you have found his Lordship's pheasants destructive to your corn."

"Didn't leave him hardly a grain last August," said Mrs. Goarly.

"Will you hold your jaw, woman, or will you not?" said the man turning round fiercely at her. "I'm going to have the law of his Lordship, sir. What's seven and six an acre? There's that quantity of pheasants in that wood as'd eat up any mortal thing as ever was grooved. Seven and six!"

"Didn't you propose arbitration?"

"I never didn't propose nothin'. I've axed two pound, and my lawyer says as how I'll get it. What I sold come off that other bit of ground down there. Wonderful crop! And this 'd've been the same. His Lordship ain't nothin' to me, Mr. Gotobed."

"You don't approve of hunting, Mr. Goarly."

"Oh, I approves if they'd pay a poor man for what harm they does him. Look at that there goose." Mr. Gotobed did look at the goose. "There's nine and twenty they've tuk from me, and only left un that." Now Mrs. Goarly's goose was well known in those parts. It was declared that she was more than a match for any fox in the county, but that Mrs. Goarly for the last two years had never owned any goose but this one.

"The foxes have eaten there all?" asked the Senator.

"Every mortal one."

"And the gentlemen of the hunt have paid you nothing."

"I had four half-crowns once," said the woman.

"If you don't send the heads you don't get it," said the man, "and then they'll keep you waiting months and months, just for their pleasures. Who's a going to put up with that? I ain't."

"And now you're going to law?"

"I am,—like a man. His Lordship ain't nothin' to me. I ain't afeard of his Lordship."

"Will it cost you much?"

"That's just what it will do, sir," said the woman.

"Didn't I tell you, hold your jaw?"

"The gentleman was going to offer to help us a little, Dan."

"I was going to say that I am interested in the case, and that you have all my good wishes. I do not like to offer pecuniary help."

"You're very good, sir; very good. This bit of land is mine; not a doubt of it;—but we're poor, sir."

"Indeed we is," said the woman. "What with taxes and rates, and them foxes as won't let me rear a head of poultry and them brutes of birds as eats up the corn, I often tells him he'd better sell the bit o' land and just set up for a public."

"It belonged to my feyther and grandfeyther," said Goarly.

Then the Senator's heart was softened again and he explained at great length that he would watch the case and if he saw his way clearly, befriend it with substantial aid. He asked about the attorney and took down Bearside's address. After that he shook hands with both of them, and then made his way back to Bragton through Mr. Twentyman's farm.

Mr. and Mrs. Goarly were left in a state of great perturbation of mind. They could not in the least make out among themselves who the gentleman was, or whether he had come for good or evil. That he called himself Gotobed Goarly did remember, and also that he had said that he was an American. All that which had referred to senatorial honours and the State of Mickewa had been lost upon Goarly. The question of course arose whether he was not a spy sent out by Lord Rufford's man of business, and Mrs. Goarly was clearly of opinion that such had been the nature of his employment. Had he really been a friend, she suggested, he would have left a sovereign behind him. "He didn't get no information from me," said Goarly.

"Only about Mr. Bearside."

"What's the odds of that? They all knows that. Bearside! Why should I be ashamed of Bearside? I'll do a deal better with Bearside than I would with that old woman, Masters."

"But he took it down in writing, Dan."

"What the d—'s the odds in that?"

"I don't like it when they puts it down in writing."

"Hold your jaw," said Goarly as he slowly shouldered the dung-fork to take it back to his work. But as they again discussed the matter that night the opinion gained ground upon them that the Senator had been an emissary from the enemy.



CHAPTER XVII

Lord Rufford's Invitation

On that same Wednesday afternoon when Morton returned with the ladies in the carriage he found that a mounted servant had arrived from Rufford Hall with a letter and had been instructed to wait for an answer. The man was now refreshing himself in the servants' hall. Morton, when he had read the letter, found that it required some consideration before he could answer it. It was to the following purport. Lord Rufford had a party of ladies and gentlemen at Rufford Hall, as his sister, Lady Penwether, was staying with him. Would Mr. Morton and his guests come over to Rufford Hall on Monday and stay till Wednesday? On Tuesday there was to be a dance for the people of the neighbourhood. Then he specified, as the guests invited, Lady Augustus and her daughter and Mr. Gotobed,— omitting the honourable Mrs. Morton of whose sojourn in the county he might have been ignorant. His Lordship went on to say that he trusted the abruptness of the invitation might be excused on account of the nearness of their neighbourhood and the old friendship which had existed between their families. He had had, he said, the pleasure of being acquainted with Lady Augustus and her daughter in London and would be proud to see Mr. Gotobed at his house during his sojourn in the county. Then he added in a postscript that the hounds met at Rufford Hall on Tuesday and that he had a horse that carried a lady well if Miss Trefoil would like to ride him. He could also put up a horse for Mr. Morton.

This was all very civil, but there was something in it that was almost too civil. There came upon Morton a suspicion, which he did not even define to himself, that the invitation was due to Arabella's charms. There were many reasons why he did not wish to accept it. His grandmother was left out and he feared that she would be angry. He did not feel inclined to take the American Senator to the lord's house, knowing as he did that the American Senator was interfering in a ridiculous manner on behalf of Goarly. And he did not particularly wish to be present at Rufford Hall with the Trefoil ladies. Hitherto he had received very little satisfaction from their visit to Bragton,—so little that he had been more than once on the verge of asking Arabella whether she wished to be relieved from her engagement. She had never quite given him the opportunity. She had always been gracious to him in a cold, disagreeable, glassy manner,—in a manner that irked his spirit but still did not justify him in expressing anger. Lady Augustus was almost uncivil to him, and from time to time said little things which were hard to bear; but he was not going to marry Lady Augustus, and could revenge himself against her by resolving in his own breast that he would have as little as possible to do with her after his marriage., That was the condition of his mind towards them, and in that condition he did not want to take them to Lord Rufford's house. Their visit to him would be over on Monday, and it would he thought be better for him that they should then go on their way to the Gores as they had proposed.

But he did not like to answer the letter by a refusal without saying a word to his guests on the subject. He would not object to ignore the Senator, but he was afraid that if nothing were to be said to Arabella she would hear of it hereafter and would complain of such treatment. He therefore directed that the man might be kept waiting while he consulted the lady of his choice. It was with difficulty that he found himself alone with her,—and then only by sending her maid in quest of her. He did get her at last into his own sitting-room and then, having placed her in a chair near the fire, gave her Lord Rufford's letter to read. "What can it be," said she looking up into his face with her great inexpressive eyes, "that has required all this solemnity?" She still looked up at him and did not even open the letter.

"I did not like to answer that without showing it to you. I don't suppose you would care to go."

"Go where?"

"It is from Lord Rufford,—for Monday."

"From Lord Rufford!"

"It would break up all your plans and your mother's, and would probably be a great bore."

Then she did read the letter, very carefully and very slowly, weighing every word of it as she read it. Did it mean more than it said? But though she read it slowly and carefully and was long before she made him any answer, she had very quickly resolved that the invitation should be accepted. It would suit her very well to know Lady Penwether. It might possibly suit her still better to become intimate with Lord Rufford. She was delighted at the idea of riding Lord Rufford's horse. As her eyes dwelt on the paper she, too, began to think that the invitation had been chiefly given on her account. At any rate she would go. She had understood perfectly well from the first tone of her lover's voice that he did not wish to subject her to the allurements of Rufford Hall. She was clever enough, and could read it all. But she did not mean to throw away a chance for the sake of pleasing him. She must not at once displease him by declaring her purpose strongly, and therefore, as she slowly continued her reading, she resolved that she would throw the burden upon her mother. "Had I not better show this to mamma?" she said.

"You can if you please. You are going to the Gores on Monday."

"We could not go earlier; but we might put it off for a couple of days if we pleased. Would it bore you?"

"I don't mind about myself. I'm not a very great man for dances."

"You'd sooner write a report,—wouldn't you,—about the products of the country?"

"A great deal sooner," said the Paragon.

"But you see we haven't all of us got products to write about. I don't care very much about it myself;—but if you don't mind I'll ask mamma." Of course he was obliged to consent, and merely informed her as she went off with the letter that a servant was waiting for an answer.

"To go to Lord Rufford's!" said Lady Augustus.

"From Monday till Wednesday, mamma. Of course we must go:"

"I promised poor Mrs. Gore."

"Nonsense, mamma! The Gores can do very well without us. That was only to be a week and we can still stay out our time. Of course this has only been sent because we are here."

"I should say so. I don't suppose Lord Rufford would care to know Mr. Morton. Lady Penwether goes everywhere; doesn't she?"

"Everywhere. It would suit me to a 't' to get on to Lady Penwether's books. But, mamma, of course it's not that. If Lord Rufford should say a word it is so much easier to manage down in the country than up in London. He has 40,000 pounds a year, if he has a penny."

"How many girls have tried the same thing with him! But I don't mind. I've always said that John Morton and Bragton would not do?"

"No, mamma; you haven't. You were the first to say they would do."

"I only said that if there were nothing else—"

"Oh, mamma, how can you say such things! Nothing else,—as if he were the last man! You said distinctly that Bragton was 7,000 pounds a year, and that it would do very well. You may change your mind if you like; but it's no good trying to back out of your own doings."

"Then I have changed my mind."

"Yes,—without thinking what I have to go through. I'm not going to throw myself at Lord Rufford's head so as to lose my chance here;— but we'll go and see how the land lies. Of course you'll go, mamma."

"If you think it is for your advantage, my dear."

"My advantage! It's part of the work to be done and we may as well do it. At any rate I'll tell him to accept. We shall have this odious American with us, but that can't be helped."

"And the old woman?"

"Lord Rufford doesn't say anything about her. I don't suppose he's such a muff but what he can leave his grandmother behind for a couple of days." Then she went back to Morton and told him that her mother was particularly anxious to make the acquaintance of Lady Penwether and that she had decided upon going to Rufford Hall. "It will be a very nice opportunity," said she, "for you to become acquainted with Lord Rufford."

Then he was almost angry. "I can make plenty of such opportunities for myself, when I want them," he said. "Of course if you and Lady Augustus like it, we will go. But let it stand on its right bottom."

"It may stand on any bottom you please."

"Do you mean to ride the man's horse?"

"Certainly I do. I never refuse a good offer. Why shouldn't I ride the man's horse? Did you never hear before of a young lady borrowing a gentleman's horse?"

"No lady belonging to me will ever do so, unless the gentleman be a very close friend indeed."

"The lady in this case does not belong to you, Mr. Morton, and therefore, if you have no other objection, she will ride Lord Rufford's horse. Perhaps you will not think it too much trouble to signify the lady's acceptance of the mount in your letter." Then she swam out of the room knowing that she left him in anger. After that he had to find Mr. Gotobed. The going was now decided on as far as he was concerned, and it would make very little difference whether the American went or not,—except that his letter would have been easier to him in accepting the invitation for three persons than for four. But the Senator was of course willing. It was the Senator's object to see England, and Lord Rufford's house would be an additional bit of England. The Senator would be delighted to have an opportunity of saying what he thought about Goarly at Lord Rufford's table. After that, before this weary letter could be written, he was compelled to see his grandmother and explain to her that she had been omitted.

"Of course, ma'am, they did not know that you were at Bragton, as you were not in the carriage at the 'meet.'"

"That's nonsense, John. Did Lord Rufford suppose that you were entertaining ladies here without some one to be mistress of the house? Of course he knew that I was here. I shouldn't have gone;— you may be sure of that. I'm not in the habit of going to the houses of people I don't know. Indeed I think it's an impertinence in them to ask in that way. I'm surprised that you would go on such an invitation."

"The Trefoils knew them."

"If Lady Penwether knew them why could not Lady Penwether ask them independently of us? I don't believe they ever spoke to Lady Penwether in their lives. Lord Rufford and Miss Trefoil may very likely be London acquaintances. He may admire her and therefore choose to have her at his ball. I know nothing about that. As far as I am concerned he's quite welcome to keep her."

All this was not very pleasant to John Morton. He knew already that his grandmother and Lady Augustus hated each other, and said spiteful things not only behind each other's backs, but openly to each other's faces. But now he had been told by the girl who was engaged to be his wife that she did not belong to him; and by his grandmother, who stood to him in the place of his mother, that she wished that this girl belonged to some one else! He was not quite sure that he did not wish it himself. But, even were it to be so, and should there be reason for him to be gratified at the escape, still he did not relish the idea of taking the girl himself to the other man's house. He wrote the letter, however, and dispatched it. But even the writing of it was difficult and disagreeable. When various details of hospitality have been offered by a comparative stranger a man hardly likes to accept them all. But in this case he had to do it. He would be delighted, he said, to stay at Rufford Hall from the Monday to the Wednesday;—Lady Augustus and Miss Trefoil would also be delighted; and so also would Mr. Gotobed be delighted. And Miss Trefoil would be further delighted to accept Lord Rufford's offer of a horse for the Tuesday. As for himself, if he rode at all, a horse would come for him to the meet. Then he wrote another note to Mr. Harry Stubbings, bespeaking a mount for the occasion.

On that evening the party at Bragton was not a very pleasant one. "No doubt you are intimate with Lady Penwether, Lady Augustus," said Mrs. Morton. Now Lady Penwether was a very fashionable woman whom to know was considered an honour.

"What makes you ask, ma'am?" said Lady Augustus.

"Only as you were taking your daughter to her brother's house, and as he is a bachelor."

"My dear Mrs. Morton, really you may leave me to take care of myself and of my daughter too. You have lived so much out of the world for the last thirty years that it is quite amusing."

"There are some persons' worlds that it is a great deal better for a lady to be out of," said Mrs. Morton. Then Lady Augustus put up her hands, and turned round, and affected to laugh, of all which things Mr. Gotobed, who was studying English society, made notes in his own mind.

"What sort of position does that man Goarly occupy here?" the Senator asked immediately after dinner.

"No position at all," said Morton.

"Every man created holds some position as I take it. The land is his own."

"He has I believe about fifty acres."

"And yet he seems to be in the lowest depth of poverty and ignorance."

"Of course he mismanages his property and probably drinks."

"I dare say, Mr. Morton. He is proud of his rights, and talked of his father and his grandfather, and yet I doubt whether you would find a man so squalid and so ignorant in all the States. I suppose he is injured by having a lord so near him."

"Quite the contrary if he would be amenable."

"You mean if he would be a creature of the lord's. And why was that other man so uncivil to me;—the man who was the lord's gamekeeper?"

"Because you went there as a friend of Goarly."

"And that's his idea of English fair play?" asked the Senator with a jeer.

"The truth is, Mr. Gotobed," said Morton endeavouring to explain it all, "you see a part only and not the whole. That man Goarly is a rascal."

"So everybody says."

"And why can't you believe everybody?"

"So everybody says on the lord's side. But before I'm done I'll find out what people say on the other side. I can see that he is ignorant and squalid; but that very probably is the lord's fault. It may be that he is a rascal and that the lord is to blame for that too. But if the lord's pheasants have eaten up Goarly's corn, the lord ought to pay for the corn whether Goarly be a rascal or not" Then John Morton made up his mind that he would never ask another American Senator to his house.



CHAPTER XVIII

The Attorney's Family is disturbed

On that Wednesday evening Mary Masters said nothing to any of her family as to the invitation from Lady Ushant. She very much wished to accept it. Latterly, for the last month or two, her distaste to the kind of life for which her stepmother was preparing her, had increased upon her greatly. There bad been days in which she had doubted whether it might not be expedient that she should accept Mr. Twentyman's offer. She believed no ill of him. She thought him to be a fine manly young fellow with a good heart and high principles. She never asked herself whether he were or were not a gentleman. She had never even inquired of herself whether she herself were or were not especially a lady. But with all her efforts to like the man,—because she thought that by doing so she would relieve and please her father,—yet he was distasteful to her; and now, since that walk home with him from Bragton Bridge, he was more distasteful than ever. She did not tell herself that a short visit, say for a month, to Cheltenham, would prevent his further attentions, but she felt that there would be a temporary escape. I do not think that she dwelt much on the suggestion that Reginald Morton should be her companion on the journey, but the idea of such companionship, even for a short time, was pleasant to her. If he did this surely then he would forgive her for having left him at the bridge. She had much to think of before she could resolve how she should tell her tidings. Should she show the letter first to her stepmother or to her father? In the ordinary course of things in that house the former course would be expected. It was Mrs. Masters who managed everything affecting the family. It was she who gave permission or denied permission for every indulgence. She was generally fair to the three girls, taking special pride to herself for doing her duty by her stepdaughter;—but on this very account she was the more likely to be angry if Mary passed her by on such an occasion as this and went to her father. But should her stepmother have once refused her permission, then the matter would have been decided against her. It would be quite useless to appeal from her stepmother to her father; nor would such an appeal come within the scope of her own principles. The Mortons, and especially Lady Ushant, had been her father's friends in old days and she thought that perhaps she might prevail in this case if she could speak to her father first. She knew well what would be the great, or rather the real objection. Her mother would not wish that she should be removed so long from Larry Twentyman. There might be difficulties about her clothes, but her father, she knew would be kind to her.

At last she made up her mind that she would ask her father. He was always at his office-desk for half an hour in the morning, before the clerks had come, and on the following day, a minute or two after he had taken his seat, she knocked at the door. He was busy reading a letter from Lord Rufford's man of business, asking him certain questions about Goarly and almost employing him to get up the case on Lord Rufford's behalf. There was a certain triumph to him in this. It was not by his means that tidings had reached Lord Rufford of his refusal to undertake Goarly's case. But Runciman, who was often allowed by his lordship to say a few words to him in the hunting-field, had mentioned the circumstance. "A man like Mr. Masters is better without such a blackguard as that," the Lord had said. Then Runciman had replied, "No doubt, my Lord; no doubt. But Dillsborough is a poor place, and business is business, my Lord." Then Lord Rufford had remembered it, and the letter which the attorney was somewhat triumphantly reading had been the consequence.

"Is that you, Mary? What can I do for you, my love?"

"Papa, I want you to read this." Then Mr. Masters read the letter. "I should so like to go."

"Should you, my dear?"

"Oh yes! Lady Ushant has been so kind to me, all my life! And I do so love her!"

"What does mamma say?"

"I haven't asked mamma."

"Is there any reason why you shouldn't go?"

Of that one reason,—as to Larry Twentyman,—of course she would say nothing. She must leave him to discuss that with her mother. "I should want some clothes, papa; a dress, and some boots, and a new hat, and there would be money for the journey and a few other things." The attorney winced, but at the same time remembered that something was due to his eldest child in the way of garments and relaxation. "I never like to be an expense, papa."

"You are very good about that, my dear. I don't see why you shouldn't go. It's very kind of Lady Ushant. I'll talk to mamma." Then Mary went away to get the breakfast, fearing that before long there would be black looks in the house.

Mr. Masters at once went up to his wife, having given himself a minute or two to calculate that he would let Mary have twenty pounds for the occasion,—and made his proposition. "I never heard of such nonsense in my life," said Mrs. Masters.

"Nonsense,—my dear! Why should it be nonsense?"

"Cocking her up with Lady Ushant! What good will Lady Ushant do her? She's not going to live with ladies of quality all her life."

"Why shouldn't she live with ladies?"

"You know what I mean, Gregory. The Mortons have dropped you, for any use they were to you, long ago, and you may as well make up your mind to drop them. You'll go on hankering after gentlefolks till you've about ruined yourself."

When he remembered that he had that very morning received a commission from Lord Rufford he thought that this was a little too bad. But he was not now in a humour to make known to her this piece of good news. "I like to feel that she has got friends," he said, going back to Mary's proposed visit.

"Of course she has got friends, if she'll only take up with them as she ought to do. Why does she go on shilly-shallying with that young man, instead of closing upon it at once? If she did that she wouldn't want such friends as Lady Ushant. Why did the girl come to you with all this instead of asking me?"

"There would be a little money wanted."

"Money! Yes, I dare say. It's very easy to want money but very hard to get it. If you send clients away out of the office with a flea in their ear I don't see how she's to have all manner of luxuries. She ought to have come to me"

"I don't see that at all, my dear."

"If I'm to look after her she shall be said by me;—that's all. I've done for her just as I have for my own and I'm not going to have her turn up her nose at me directly she wants anything for herself. I know what's fit for Mary, and it ain't fit that she should go trapesing away to Cheltenham, doing nothing in that old woman's parlour, and losing her chances for life. Who is to suppose that Larry Twentyman will go on dangling after her in this way, month after month? The young man wants a wife, and of course he'll get one."

"You can't make her marry the man if she don't like him."

"Like him! She ought to be made to like him. A young man well off as he is, and she without a shilling! All that comes from Ushanting." It never occurred to Mrs. Masters that perhaps the very qualities that had made poor Larry so vehemently in love with Mary had come from her intercourse with Lady Ushant. "If I'm to have my way she won't go a yard on the way to Cheltenham."

"I've told her she may go," said Mr. Masters, whose mind was wandering back to old days,—to his first wife, and to the time when he used to be an occasional guest in the big parlour at Bragton. He was always ready to acknowledge to himself that his present wife was a good and helpful companion to him and a careful mother to his children; but there were moments in which he would remember with soft regret a different phase of his life. Just at present he was somewhat angry, and resolving in his own mind that in this case he would have his own way.

"Then I shall tell her she mayn't," said Mrs. Masters with a look of dogged determination.

"I hope you will do nothing of the kind, my dear. I've told her that she shall have a few pounds to get what she wants, and I won't have her disappointed." After that Mrs. Masters bounced out of the room, and made herself very disagreeable indeed over the tea-things.

The whole household was much disturbed that day. Mrs. Masters said nothing to Mary about Lady Ushant all the morning, but said a great deal about other things. Poor Mary was asked whether she was not ashamed to treat a young man as she was treating Mr. Twentyman. Then again it was demanded of her whether she thought it right that all the house should be knocked about for her. At dinner Mrs. Masters would hardly speak to her husband but addressed herself exclusively to Dolly and Kate. Mr. Masters was not a man who could, usually, stand this kind of thing very long and was accustomed to give up in despair and then take himself off to the solace of his office-chair. But on the present occasion he went through his meal like a Spartan, and retired from the room without a sign of surrender. In the afternoon about five o'clock Mary watched her opportunity and found him again alone. It was incumbent on her to reply to Lady Ushant. Would it not be better that she should write and say how sorry she was that she could not come? "But I want you to go," said he.

"Oh, papa;—I cannot bear to cause trouble."

"No, my dear; no; and I'm sure I don't like trouble myself. But in this case I think you ought to go. What day has she named?" Then Mary declared that she could not possibly go so soon as Lady Ushant had suggested, but that she could be ready by the 18th of December. "Then write and tell her so, my dear, and I will let your mother know that it is fixed." But Mary still hesitated, desiring to know whether she had not better speak to her mother first. "I think you had better write your letter first,"—and then he absolutely made her write it in the office and give it to him to be posted. After that he promised to communicate to Reginald Morton what had been done.

The household was very much disturbed the whole of that evening. Poor Mary never remembered such a state of things, and when there had been any difference of opinion, she had hitherto never been the cause of it. Now it was all owing to her! And things were said so terrible that she hardly knew how to bear them. Her father had promised her the twenty pounds, and it was insinuated that all the comforts of the family must be stopped because of this lavish extravagance. Her father sat still and bore it, almost without a word. Both Dolly and Kate were silent and wretched. Mrs. Masters every now and then gurgled in her throat, and three or four times wiped her eyes. "I'm better out of the way altogether," she said at last, jumping up and walking towards the door as though she were going to leave the room,—and the house, for ever.

"Mamma," said Mary, rising from her seat, "I won't go. I'll write and tell Lady Ushant that I can't do it."

"You're not to mind me," said Mrs. Masters. "You're to do what your papa tells you. Everything that I've been striving at is to be thrown away. I'm to be nobody, and it's quite right that your papa should tell you so."

"Dear mamma, don't talk like that," said Mary, clinging hold of her stepmother.

"Your papa sits there and won't say a word," said Mrs. Masters, stamping her foot.

"What's the good of speaking when you go on like that before the children?" said Mr. Masters, getting up from his chair. "I say that it's a proper thing that the girl should go to see the old friend who brought her up and has been always kind to her,—and she shall go." Mrs. Masters seated herself on the nearest chair and leaning her head against the wall, began to go into hysterics. "Your letter has already gone, Mary; and I desire you will write no other without letting me know." Then he left the room and the house,—and absolutely went over to the Bush. This latter proceeding was, however, hardly more than a bravado; for he merely took the opportunity of asking Mrs. Runciman a question at the bar, and then walked back to his own house, and shut himself up in the office.

On the next morning he called on Reginald Morton and told him that his daughter had accepted Lady Ushant's invitation, but could not go till the 18th. "I shall be proud to take charge of her," said Reginald. "And as for the change in the day it will suit me all the better." So that was settled.

On the next day, Friday, Mrs. Masters did not come down to breakfast, but was waited upon up-stairs by her own daughters. This with her was a most unusual circumstance. The two maids were of opinion that such a thing had never occurred before, and that therefore Master must have been out half the night at the public-house although they had not known it. To Mary she would hardly speak a word. She appeared at dinner and called her husband Mr. Masters when she helped him to stew. All the afternoon she averred that her head was splitting, but managed to say many very bitter things about gentlemen in general, and expressed a vehement hope that that poor man Goarly would get at least a hundred pounds. It must be owned, however, that at this time she had heard nothing of Lord Rufford's commission to her husband. In the evening Larry came in and was at once told the terrible news. "Larry," said Kate, "Mary is going away for a month."

"Where are you going, Mary?" asked the lover eagerly.

"To Lady Ushant's, Mr. Twentyman."

"For a month!"

"She has asked me for a month," said Mary.

"It's a regular fool's errand," said Mrs. Masters. "It's not done with my consent, Mr. Twentyman. I don't think she ought to stir from home till things are more settled."

"They can be settled this moment as far as I am concerned," said Larry standing up.

"There now," said Mrs. Masters. At this time Mr. Masters was not in the room. "If you can make it straight with Mr. Twentyman I won't say a word against your going away for a month."

"Mamma, you shouldn't!" exclaimed Mary.

"I hate such nonsense. Mr. Twentyman is behaving honest and genteel. What more would you have? Give him an answer like a sensible girl."

"I have given him an answer and I cannot say anything more," said Mary as she left the room.



CHAPTER XIX

"Who valued the Geese?"

Before the time had come for the visit to Rufford Hall Mr. Gotobed had called upon Bearside the attorney and had learned as much as Mr. Bearside chose to tell him of the facts of the case. This took place on the Saturday morning and the interview was on the whole satisfactory to the Senator. But then having a theory of his own in his head, and being fond of ventilating his own theories, he explained thoroughly to the man the story which he wished to hear before the man was called upon to tell his story. Mr. Bearside of course told it accordingly. Goarly was a very poor man, and very ignorant; was perhaps not altogether so good a member of society as he might have been; but no doubt he had a strong case against the lord. The lord, so said Mr. Bearside, had fallen into a way of paying a certain recompense in certain cases for crops damaged by game; and having in this way laid down a rule for himself did not choose to have that rule disturbed. "Just feudalism!" said the indignant Senator. "No better, nor yet no worse than that, sir," said the attorney who did not in the least know what feudalism was. "The strong hand backed by the strong rank and the strong purse determined to have its own way!" continued the Senator. "A most determined man is his lordship," said the attorney. Then the Senator expressed his hope that Mr. Bearside would be able to see the poor man through it, and Mr. Bearside explained to the Senator that the poor man was a very poor man indeed, who had been so unfortunate with his land that he was hardly able to provide bread for himself and his children. He went so far as to insinuate that he was taking up this matter himself solely on the score of charity, adding that as he could not of course afford to be money out of pocket for expenses of witnesses, etc, he did not quite see how he was to proceed. Then the Senator made certain promises. He was, he said, going back to London in the course of next week, but he did not mind making himself responsible to the extent of fifty dollars if the thing were carried on, bona fide, to a conclusion. Mr. Bearside declared that it would of course be bona fide, and asked the Senator for his address. Would Mr. Gotobed object to putting his name to a little docket certifying to the amount promised? Mr. Gotobed gave an address, but thought that in such a matter as that his word might be trusted. If it were not trusted then the offer might fall to the ground. Mr. Bearside was profuse in his apologies and declared that the gentleman's word was as good as his bond.

Mr. Gotobed made no secret of his doings. Perhaps he had a feeling that he could not justify himself in so strange a proceeding without absolute candour. He saw Mr. Mainwaring in the street as he left Bearside's office and told him all about it. "I just want, sir, to see what'll come of it"

"You'll lose your fifty dollars, Mr. Gotobed, and only cause a little vexation to a high-spirited young nobleman."

"Very likely, sir. But neither the loss of my dollars, nor Lord Rufford's slight vexation will in the least disturb my rest. I'm not a rich man, sir, but I should like to watch the way in which such a question will be tried and brought to a conclusion in this aristocratic country. I don't quite know what your laws may be, Mr. Mainwaring."

"Just the same as your own, Mr. Gotobed, I take it"

"We have no game laws, sir. As I was saying I don't understand your laws, but justice is the same everywhere. If this great lord's game has eaten up the poor man's wheat the great lord ought to pay for it."

"The owners of game pay for the damage they do three times over," said the parson, who was very strongly on that side of the question. "Do you think that such men as Goarly would be better off if the gentry were never to come into the country at all?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Mainwaring, I may think that there would be no Goarlys if there were no Ruffords. That, however, is a great question which cannot be argued on this case. All we can hope here is that one poor man may have an act of justice done him though in seeking for it he has to struggle against so wealthy a magnate as Lord Rufford."

"What I hope is that he may be found out," replied Mr. Mainwaring with equal enthusiasm, "and then he will be in Rufford gaol before long. That's the justice I look for. Who do you think put down the poison in Dillsborough wood?"

"How was it that the poor woman lost all her geese?" asked the Senator.

"She was paid for a great many more than she lost, Mr. Gotobed."

"That doesn't touch upon the injustice of the proceeding. Who assessed the loss, sir? Who valued the geese? Am I to keep a pet tiger in my garden, and give you a couple of dollars when he destroys your pet dog, and think myself justified because dogs as a rule are not worth more than two dollars each? She has a right to her own geese on her own ground."

"And Lord Rufford, sir, as I take it," said Runciman, who had been allowed to come up and hear the end of the conversation, "has a right to his own foxes in his own coverts."

"Yes,—if he could keep them there, my friend. But as it is the nature of foxes to wander away and to be thieves, he has no such right."

"Of course, sir, begging your pardon," said Runciman, "I was speaking of England." Runciman had heard of the Senator Gotobed, as indeed had all Dillsborough by this time.

"And I am speaking of justice all the world over," said the Senator slapping his hand upon his thigh. "But I only want to see. It may be that England is a country in which a poor man should not attempt to hold a few acres of land."

On that night the Dillsborough club met as usual and, as a matter of course, Goarly and the American Senator were the subjects chiefly discussed. Everybody in the room knew,—or thought that he knew,—that Goarly was a cheating fraudulent knave, and that Lord Rufford was, at any rate, in this case acting properly. They all understood the old goose, and were aware, nearly to a bushel, of the amount of wheat which the man had sold off those two fields. Runciman knew that the interest on the mortgage had been paid, and could only have been paid out of the produce; and Larry Twentyman knew that if Goarly took his 7s. 6d. an acre he would be better off than if the wood had not been there. But yet among them all they didn't quite see how they were to confute the Senator's logic. They could not answer it satisfactorily, even among themselves; but they felt that if Goarly could be detected in some offence, that would confute the Senator. Among themselves it was sufficient to repeat the well-known fact that Goarly was a rascal; but with reference to this aggravating, interfering, and most obnoxious American it would be necessary to prove it.

"His Lordship has put it into Masters's hands, I'm told," said the doctor. At this time neither the attorney nor Larry Twentyman were in the room.

"He couldn't have done better," said Runciman, speaking from behind a long clay pipe.

"All the same he was nibbling at Goarly," said Ned Botsey.

"I don't know that he was nibbling at Goarly at all, Mr. Botsey," said the landlord. "Goarly came to him, and Goarly was refused. What more would you have?"

"It's all one to me," said Botsey; "only I do think that in a sporting county like this the place ought to be made too hot to hold a blackguard like that. If he comes out at me with his gun I'll ride over him. And I wouldn't mind riding over that American too."

"That's just what would suit Goarly's book," said the doctor.

"Exactly what Goarly would like," said Harry Stubbings.

Then Mr. Masters and Larry entered the room. On that evening two things had occurred to the attorney. Nickem had returned, and had asked for and received an additional week's leave of absence. He had declined to explain accurately what he was doing but gave the attorney to understand that he thought that he was on the way to the bottom of the whole thing. Then, after Nickem had left him, Mr. Masters had a letter of instructions from Lord Rufford's steward. When he received it, and found that his paid services had been absolutely employed on behalf of his Lordship, he almost regretted the encouragement he had given to Nickem. In the first place he might want Nickem. And then he felt that in his present position he ought not to be a party to anything underhand. But Nickem was gone, and he was obliged to console himself by thinking that Nickem was at any rate employing his intellect on the right side. When he left his house with Larry Twentyman he had told his wife nothing about Lord Rufford. Up to this time he and his wife had not as yet reconciled their difference, and poor Mary was still living in misery. Larry, though he had called for the attorney, had not sat down in the parlour, and had barely spoken to Mary. "For gracious sake, Mr. Twentyman, don't let him stay in that place there half the night," said Mrs. Masters. "It ain't fit for a father of a family."

"Father never does stay half the night," said Kate, who took more liberties in that house than any one else.

"Hold your tongue, miss. I don't know whether it wouldn't be better for you, Mr. Twentyman, if you were not there so often yourself." Poor Larry felt this to be hard. He was not even engaged as yet, and as far as he could see was not on the way to be engaged. In such condition surely his possible mother-in-law could have no right to interfere with him. He condescended to make no reply, but crossed the passage and carried the attorney off with him.

"You've heard what that American gentleman has been about, Mr. Masters?" asked the landlord.

"I'm told he's been with Bearside."

"And has offered to pay his bill for him if he'll carry on the business for Goarly. Whoever heard the like of that?"

"What sort of a man is he?" asked the doctor. "A great man in his own country everybody says," answered Runciman. "I wish he'd stayed there. He comes over here and thinks he understands everything just as though he had lived here all his life. Did you say gin cold, Larry; and rum for you, Mr. Masters?" Then the landlord gave the orders to the girl who had answered the bell.

"But they say he's actually going to Lord Rufford's," said young Botsey who would have given one of his fingers to be asked to the lord's house.

"They are all going from Bragton," said Runciman.

"The young squire is going to ride one of my horses," said Harry Stubbings.

"That'll be an easy three pounds in your pockets, Harry," said the doctor. In answer to which Harry remarked that he took all that as it came, the heavies and lights together, and that there was not much change to be got out of three sovereigns when some gentlemen had had a horse out for the day,—particularly when a gentleman didn't pay perhaps for twelve months.

"The whole party is going," continued the landlord. "How he is to have the cheek to go into his Lordship's house after what he is doing is more than I can understand."

"What business is it of his?" said Larry angrily. "That's what I want to know. What'd he think if we went and interfered over there? I shouldn't be surprised if he got a little rough usage before he's out of the county. I'm told he came across Bean when he was ferreting about the other day, and that Bean gave him quite as good as he brought."

"I say he's a spy," said Ribbs the butcher from his seat on the sofa. "I hates a spy."

Soon after that Mr. Masters left the room and Larry Twentyman followed him. There was something almost ridiculous in the way the young man would follow the attorney about on these Saturday evenings,—as though he could make love to the girl by talking to the father. But on this occasion he had something special to say. "So Mary's going to Cheltenham, Mr. Masters."

"Yes, she is. You don't see any objection to that, I hope."

"Not in the least, Mr. Masters. I wish she might go anywhere to enjoy herself. And from all I've heard Lady Ushant is a very good sort of lady."

"A very good sort of lady. She won't do Mary any harm, Twentyman."

"I don't suppose she will. But there's one thing I should like to know. Why shouldn't she tell me before she goes that she'll have me?"

"I wish she would with all my heart."

"And Mrs. Masters is all on my side."

"Quite so."

"And the girls have always been my friends."

"I think we are all your friends, Twentyman. I'm sure Mary is. But that isn't marrying; is it?"

"If you would speak to her, Mr. Masters."

"What would you have me say? I couldn't bid my girl to have one man or another. I could only tell her what I think, and that she knows already."

"If you were to say that you wished it! She thinks so much about you:'

"I couldn't tell her that I wished it in a manner that would drive her into it. Of course it would be a very good match. But I have only to think of her happiness and I must leave her to judge what will make her happy."

"I should like to have it fixed some way before she starts," said Larry in an altered tone.

"Of course you are your own master, Twentyman. And you have behaved very well"

"This is a kind of thing that a man can't stand," said the young farmer sulkily. "Good night, Mr. Masters" Then he walked off home to Chowton Farm meditating on his own condition and trying to make up his mind to leave the scornful girl and become a free man. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't even quite make up his mind that he would try to do it. There was a bitterness within as he thought of permanent fixed failure which he could not digest. There was a craving in his heart which he did not himself quite understand, but which made him think that the world would be unfit to be lived in if he were to be altogether separated from Mary Masters. He couldn't separate himself from her. It was all very well thinking of it, talking of it, threatening it; but in truth he couldn't do it. There might of course be an emergency in which he must do it. She might declare that she loved some one else and she might marry that other person. In that event he saw no other alternative but,— as he expressed it to himself,—"to run a mucker." Whether the "mucker" should be run against Mary, or against the fortunate lover, or against himself, he did not at present resolve.

But he did resolve as he reached his own hall door that he would make one more passionate appeal to Mary herself before she started for Cheltenham, and that he would not make it out on a public path, or in the Masters' family parlour before all the Masters' family;— but that he would have her secluded, by herself, so that he might speak out all that was in him, to the best of his ability.



CHAPTER XX

There are Convenances

Before the Monday came the party to Rufford Hall had become quite a settled thing and had been very much discussed. On the Saturday the Senator had been driven to the meet, a distance of about ten miles, on purpose that he might see Lord Rufford and explain his views about Goarly. Lord Rufford had bowed and stared, and laughed, and had then told the Senator that he thought he would "find himself in the wrong box." "That's quite possible, my Lord. I guess, it won't be the first time I've been in the wrong box, my Lord. Sometimes I do get right. But I thought I would not enter your lordship's house as a guest without telling you what I was doing." Then Lord Rufford assured him that this little affair about Goarly would make no difference in that respect. Mr. Gotobed again scrutinised the hounds and Tony Tuppett, laughed in his sleeve because a fox wasn't found in the first quarter of an hour, and after that was driven back to Bragton.