This all went on delightfully for a while; but on one morning, early in May, Alaric somewhat disturbed the equanimity of his chief by communicating to him his intention of becoming a candidate for the representation of the borough of Strathbogy, at the next general election, which was to take place very shortly after the close of the session. Sir Gregory was dumbfounded, and expressed himself as incapable of believing that Tudor really meant to throw up L1,200 a year on the mere speculation of its being possible that he should get into Parliament. Men in general, as Sir Gregory endeavoured to explain with much eloquence, go into Parliament for the sake of getting places of L1,200 a year. For what earthly reason should Alaric again be going to the bottom of the ladder, seeing that he had already attained a rung of such very respectable altitude? Alaric said to himself, 'Excelsior!' To Sir Gregory he suggested that it might be possible that he should get into Parliament without giving up his seat at the Board. Earth and heaven, it might be hoped, would not come together, even though so great a violence as this should be done to the time-honoured practices of the Government. Sir Gregory suggested that it was contrary to the constitution. Alaric replied that the constitution had been put upon to as great an extent before this, and had survived. Sir Gregory regarded it as all but impossible, and declared it to be quite unusual. Alaric rejoined that something of the same kind had been done at the Poor Law Board. To this Sir Gregory replied, gently pluming his feathers with conscious greatness, that at the Poor Law Board the chief of the Commission was the Parliamentary officer. Alaric declared that he was perfectly willing to give way if Sir Gregory would go into the House himself. To this Sir Gregory demurred; not feeling himself called on to change the sphere of his utility. And so the matter was debated between them, till at last Sir Gregory promised to consult his friend the Chancellor of the Exchequer. The ice was thus broken, and Alaric was quite contented with the part which he had taken in the conversation.

With his own official prospects, in spite of the hazardous step which he now meditated, he was quite contented. He had an idea that in the public service of the Government, as well as in all other services, men who were known to be worth their wages would find employment. He was worth his wages. Men who could serve their country well, who could adapt themselves to work, who were practical, easy in harness, able to drive and patient to be driven, were not, unfortunately, as plentiful as blackberries. He began to perceive that a really useful man could not be found miscellaneously under every hat in Pall Mall. He knew his own value, and did not fear but that he should find a price for it in some of the world's markets. He would not, therefore, allow himself to be deterred from further progress by any fear that in doing so he risked the security of his daily bread; no, not though the risk extended to his wife; she had taken him for better or worse; if the better came she should share it; if the worse, why let her share that also, with such consolation as his affection might be able to offer.

There was something noble in this courage, in this lack of prudence. It may be a question whether men, in marrying, do not become too prudent. A single man may risk anything, says the world; but a man with a wife should be sure of his means. Why so? A man and a woman are but two units. A man and a woman with ten children are but twelve units. It is sad to see a man starving— sad to see a woman starving—very sad to see children starving. But how often does it come to pass that the man who will work is seen begging his bread? we may almost say never—unless, indeed, he be a clergyman. Let the idle man be sure of his wife's bread before he marries her; but the working man, one would say, may generally trust to God's goodness without fear.

With his official career Alaric was, as we have said, well contented; in his stock-jobbing line of business he also had had moments of great exaltation, and some moments of considerable depression. The West Corks had vacillated. Both he and Undy had sold and bought and sold again; and on the whole their stake in that stupendous national line of accommodation was not so all- absorbing as it had once been. But if money had been withdrawn from this, it had been invested elsewhere, and the great sum borrowed from Madame Jaquetanape's fortune had been in no part replaced—one full moiety of it had been taken—may one not say stolen?—to enable Alaric and Undy to continue their speculations.

The undertaking to which they were now both wedded was the Limehouse and Rotherhithe Bridge. Of this Undy was chairman, and Alaric was a director, and at the present moment they looked for ample fortune, or what would nearly be ample ruin, to the decision of a committee of the House of Commons which was about to sit with the view of making inquiry as to the necessity of the bridge in question.

Mr. Nogo, the member for Mile End, was the parent of this committee. He asserted that the matter was one of such vital importance not only to the whole metropolis, but to the country at large, that the Government were bound in the first place to give a large subsidy towards building the bridge, and afterwards to pay a heavy annual sum towards the amount which it would be necessary to raise by tolls. Mr. Whip Vigil, on the other hand, declared on the part of Government that the bridge was wholly unnecessary; that if it were built it ought to be pulled down again; and that not a stiver could be given out of the public purse with such an object.

On this they joined issue. Mr. Nogo prayed for a committee, and Mr. Vigil, having duly consulted his higher brethren in the Government, conceded this point. It may easily be conceived how high were now the hopes both of Undy Scott and Alaric Tudor. It was not at all necessary for them that the bridge should ever be built; that, probably, was out of the question; that, very likely, neither of them regarded as a possibility. But if a committee of the House of Commons could be got to say that it ought to be built, they might safely calculate on selling out at a large profit.

But who were to sit on the committee? That was now the all- momentous question.



CHAPTER XXXII

THE PARLIAMENTARY COMMITTEE

There is a sport prevalent among the downs in Hampshire to which, though not of a high degree, much interest is attached. Men and boys, with social glee and happy boyish shouts, congregate together on a hill-side, at the mouth of a narrow hole, and proceed, with the aid of a well-trained bull-dog, to draw a badger. If the badger be at all commendable in his class this is by no means an easy thing to do. He is a sturdy animal, and well fortified with sharp and practised teeth; his hide is of the toughest; his paws of the strongest, and his dead power of resistance so great as to give him more than an equal chance with the bull-dog. The delighted sportsmen stand round listening to the growls and snarls, the tearings, gnawings, and bloody struggles of the combatants within.—'Well done, badger!—Well done, bull-dog!—Draw him, bulldog!—Bite him, badger!' Each has his friends, and the interest of the moment is intense. The badger, it is true, has done no harm. He has been doing as it was appointed for him to do, poor badger, in that hole of his. But then, why were badgers created but to be drawn? Why, indeed, but to be drawn, or not to be drawn, as the case may be? See! the bull-dog returns minus an ear, with an eye hanging loose, his nether lip torn off, and one paw bitten through and through. Limping, dejected, beaten, glaring fearfully from his one remaining eye, the dog comes out; and the badger within rolls himself up with affected ease, hiding his bloody wounds from the public eye.

So it is that the sport is played in Hampshire; and so also at Westminster—with a difference, however. In Hampshire the two brutes retain ever their appointed natures. The badger is always a badger, and the bull-dog never other than a bull-dog. At Westminster there is a juster reciprocity of position. The badger when drawn has to take his place outside the hole, and fight again for the home of his love; while the victorious bull-dog assumes a state of badgerdom, dons the skin of his enemy, and, in his turn, submits to be baited.

The pursuit is certainly full of interest, but it is somewhat deficient in dignity.

The parliamentary committee, which was to sit with reference to the Limehouse and Rotherhithe Bridge, had been one of the effects of a baiting-match such as that above described. In this contest the enemies of the proud occupier of the den on the mountain-side had not been contented to attempt to expel him with a single bull-dog. A whole pack had been let loose at his devoted throat. Bull-dogs had been at him, and terriers, mastiffs, blood-hounds, lurchers, and curs; but so accustomed was he to the contest, so knowing in his fence, so ready with all the weapons given to him by nature, that, in spite of the numbers and venom of his enemies, he had contrived to hold his own. Some leading hounds had fallen to rise no more; others had retreated, yelping to their kennels, to lie quiet for a while, till time might give them courage for a new attack. The country round was filled with the noise of their plaints, and the yowling and howling of canine defeat. The grey old badger meanwhile sat proud in his hole, with all his badger kin around him, and laughed his well-known badger laugh at his disconsolate foes. Such a brock had not for years been seen in the country-side; so cool, so resolute, so knowing in his badger ways, so impregnable in his badger hole, and so good-humoured withal. He could bite full sore with those old teeth of his, and yet he never condescended to show them. A badger indeed of whom the country might well be proud!

But in the scramble of the fight some little curs had been permitted to run away with some little bones; and, in this way, Mr. Nogo, the member for Mile End, had been allowed to carry his motion for a committee to inquire as to the expediency of the Government's advancing a quarter of a million towards the completion of that momentous national undertaking, the building of a bridge from Limehouse to Rotherhithe.

Very much had been said about this bridge, till men living out of the light of parliamentary life, nine hundred and ninety-nine men, that is, out of every thousand in the Queen's dominions, had begun to think that it was the great want of the age. Men living in the light, the supporters of the bridge as well as its enemies, knew very well that such an erection was quite unneeded, and would in all probability never be made. But then the firm of Blocks, Piles, and Cofferdam, who held a vast quantity of the bridge shares, and who were to be the contractors for building it, had an all-powerful influence in the borough of Limehouse. Where would Mr. Nogo be if he did not cultivate the friendship of such men as Blocks, Piles, and Cofferdam?

And so Mr. Nogo, and those who acted with Mr. Nogo—men, that is, who had little jobs of their own to do, and in the doing of which Mr. Nogo occasionally assisted, Undy Scott, for instance, and such-like—these men, I say, had talked much about the bridge; and gentlemen on the Treasury bench, who could have afforded to show up the folly of the scheme, and to put Mr. Nogo down at once, had he been alone, felt themselves under the necessity of temporizing. As to giving a penny of the public money for such a purpose, that they knew was out of the question; that Mr. Nogo never expected; that they all knew Mr. Nogo never expected. But as Mr. Nogo's numbers were so respectable, it was necessary to oppose him in a respectable parliamentary steady manner. He had fifteen with him! Had he been quite alone, Mr. Vigil would have sneered him off; had he had but four to back him, the old badger would have laughed them out of face with a brace of grins. But fifteen—! Mr. Whip Vigil thought that the committee would be the most safe. So would the outer world be brought to confess that the interests of Limehouse and Poplar, Rotherhithe and Deptford, had not been overlooked by a careful Government.

But of whom was the committee to be made up? That was now the question which to Mr. Nogo, in his hour of temporary greatness, was truly momentous. He of course was to be the chairman, and to him appertained the duty of naming the other members; of naming them indeed—so much he could undoubtedly do by the strength of his own privilege. But of what use to name a string of men to whom Mr. Vigil would not consent? Mr. Nogo, did he do so, would have to divide on every name, and be beaten at every division. There would be no triumph in that. No; Mr. Nogo fully understood that his triumph must be achieved—if he were destined to a triumph—by an astute skill in his selection, not by an open choice of friends. He must obtain a balance on his side, but one in which the scale would lean so slightly to his side that Mr. Vigil's eyes might be deceived. Those who knew Mr. Vigil best were inclined to surmise that such an arrangement was somewhat beyond Mr. Nogo's political capacity. There is a proverb which goes to show that a certain little lively animal may be shaved if he be caught napping; but then the difficulty of so catching him is extreme.

Mr. Nogo, at the head of the list, put Mr. Vigil himself. This, of course, was a necessity to him—would that he could have dispensed with it! Then he named sundry supporters of the Government, sundry members also of the opposition; and he filled up the list with certain others who could not be regarded as sure supporters of one side or the other, but with whom, for certain reasons, he thought he might in this particular case be safe. Undy Scott was of course not among the number, as Mr. Nogo would only have damaged his cause by naming a man known to have a pecuniary interest in the concern.

The member for Mile End was doubtless sharp, but Mr. Vigil was sharper. His object was, in fact, merely to do his duty to the country by preventing a profuse and useless expenditure of money. His anxiety was a perfectly honest one—to save the Exchequer namely. But the circumstances of the case required that he should fight the battle according to the tactics of the House, and he well understood how to do so.

When the list was read he objected to two or three names—only to two or three. They were not those of staunch enemies of the Government; nor did he propose in their places the names of staunch supporters. He suggested certain gentlemen who, from their acquaintance with bridges, tolls, rivers, &c., would, as he said, be probably of use. He, also, was sure of his men, and as he succeeded with two of them, he was also pretty sure of his committee.

And then the committee met, and a lot of witnesses were in attendance. The chairman opened his case, and proceeded to prove, by the evidence of sundry most respectable men connected with Limehouse, and with the portions of Surrey and Kent lying immediately opposite to it, that the most intense desire for friendly and commercial intercourse was felt; but that, though absolutely close to each other, the districts were so divided by adverse circumstances, circumstances which were monstrous considering the advance of science in the nineteenth century, that the dearest friends were constrained to perpetual banishment from each other; and that the men of Kent were utterly unable to do any trade at Limehouse, and the Limehousians equally unable to carry on traffic in Surrey.

It was wonderful that the narrow river should be so effective for injury. One gentleman from Poplar proved that, having given his daughter in marriage to a man of Deptford two years since, he had not yet been able to see her since that day. Her house, by the crow's flight, was but seven furlongs from his own; but, as he kept no horse, he could not get to her residence without a four hours' walk, for which he felt himself to be too old. He was, however, able to visit his married daughter at Reading, and be back to tea. The witness declared that his life was made miserable by his being thus debarred from his child, and he wiped his eyes with his pocket-handkerchief piteously, sitting there in front of the committee. In answer to Mr. Vigil he admitted that there might be a ferry, but stated that he did not know. Having had, from childhood, an aversion to the water, he had not inquired. He was aware that some rash people had gone through the Tunnel, but for himself he did not think the Tunnel a safe mode of transit.

Another gentleman belonging to Rotherhithe, who was obliged to be almost daily at Blackwall, maintained two horses for the express purpose of going backwards and forwards, round by London Bridge. They cost him L70 per annum each. Such a bridge as that now proposed, and which the gentleman declared that he regarded as an embryo monument of national glory, would save him L140 per annum. He then proceeded to make a little speech about the spirit of the age, and the influence of routine, which he described as a gloomy gnome. But his oratory was cruelly cut short by Mr. Vigil, who demanded of him whether he ever used the river steamers. The witness shuddered fearfully as he assured the committee that he never did, and referred to the Cricket, whose boilers burst in the year 1842; besides, he had, he said, his things to carry with him.

Another witness told how unsafe was the transit of heavy goods by barge from one side of the river to another. He had had a cargo of marine stores which would go to sea before their time. The strong ebb of the tide, joined to the river current, had positively carried the barge away, and its course had not been stopped till it had drifted on shore at Purfleet. He acknowledged that something had transpired of the bargemen being drunk, but he had no knowledge himself that such had been the case. No other cargoes of his own had been carried away, but he had heard that such was often the case. He thought that the bridge was imperatively demanded. Would the tolls pay? He felt sure that they would. Why, then, should not the bridge be built as a commercial speculation, without Government aid? He thought that in such cases a fostering Government was bound to come forward and show the way. He had a few shares in the bridge himself. He had paid up L1 a share. They were now worth 2s. 6d. each. They had been worth nothing before the committee had been ordered to sit. He declined to give any opinion as to what the shares would be worth if the money were granted.

Ladies at Limehouse proved that if there were a bridge they could save 30s. a year each, by buying their tea and sugar at Rotherhithe; and so singular are the usages of trade, that the ladies of Rotherhithe would benefit their husbands equally, and return the compliment, by consuming the bread of Limehouse. The shores of Kent were pining for the beef of the opposite bank, and only too anxious to give in return the surplus stock of their own poultry.

'Let but a bridge be opened,' as was asserted by one animated vendor of rope, 'and Poplar would soon rival Pimlico. Perhaps that might not be desirable in the eyes of men who lived in the purlieus of the Court, and who were desirous to build no new bridge, except that over the ornamental water in St. James's Park.' Upon uttering which the rope-vendor looked at Mr. Vigil as though he expected him to sink at once under the table.

Mr. Blocks, of the great firm of Blocks, Piles, and Cofferdam, then came forward. He declared that a large sum of money was necessary before this great national undertaking could be begun in a spirit worthy of the nineteenth century. It was intended to commence the approaches on each side of the river a quarter of a mile from the first abutment of the bridge, in order to acquire the necessary altitude without a steep ascent. He then described what a glorious bridge this bridge would be; how it would eclipse all bridges that had ever been built; how the fleets of all nations would ride under it; how many hundred thousand square feet of wrought iron would be consumed in its construction; how many tons of Portland stone in the abutments, parapets, and supporting walls; how much timber would be buried twenty fathoms deep in the mud of the river; how many miles of paving-stone would be laid down. Mr. Blocks went on with his astonishing figures till the committee were bewildered, and even Mr. Vigil, though well used to calculations, could hardly raise his mind to the dimensions of the proposed undertaking.

The engineer followed, and showed how easily this great work could be accomplished. There was no difficulty, literally none. The patronage of the Crown was all that was required. The engineer was asked whether by the word patronage he meant money, and after a little laughing and a few counter questions, he admitted that, in his estimation, patronage and money did mean the same thing.

Such was the case made out by the promoters of the bridge, and the chairman and his party were very sanguine of success. They conceived that Mr. Blocks' figures had completely cowed their antagonists.

Mr. Vigil then took his case in hand, and brought forward his witnesses. It now appeared that the intercourse between the people living on each side of the river was immense, and ever on the increase. Limehouse, it would seem, had nothing to do but to go to Deptford, and that Deptford consumed all its time in returning the visit. Little children were sent across continually on the most trifling errands, going and coming for one halfpenny. An immense income was made by the owners of the ferry. No two adjacent streets in London had more to do with each other than had the lanes of Rotherhithe and the lanes of Limehouse. Westminster and Lambeth were further apart, and less connected by friendly intercourse. The frequenters of the ferry were found to outnumber the passengers over Waterloo Bridge by ten to one.

Indeed, so lamentable a proposition as this of building a bridge across the river had never before been mooted by the public. Men conversant with such matters gave it as their opinion that no amount of tolls that could reasonably be expected would pay one per cent on the money which it was proposed to expend; that sum, however, they stated, would not more than half cover the full cost of the bridge. Traffic would be prohibited by the heavy charges which would be necessary, and the probability would be that the ferry would still continue to be the ordinary mode of crossing the river.

A gentleman, accustomed to use strong figures of speech, declared that if such a bridge were built, the wisest course would be to sow the surface with grass, and let it out for grazing. This witness was taken specially in hand by Mr. Nogo, and targed very tightly. Mr. Vigil had contrived to prove, out of the mouths of inimical witnesses, the very reverse of that which they had been summoned thither to assert. The secret of the ferry had been first brought to the light by the gentleman who could not visit his daughter at Deptford, and so on. These triumphs had evidently been very pleasant to Mr. Vigil, and Mr. Nogo thought that he might judiciously take a leaf out of the Treasury book. Actuated by this ambition, he, with the assistance of his friend, the M'Carthy Desmond, put no less than 2,250 questions to the gentleman who suggested the grazing, in order to induce him to say, that if there were a bridge, men would probably walk over it. But they could not bring him to own to a single passenger, unless they would abandon the tolls. The most that they could get from him was, that perhaps an old woman, with more money than wit, might go over it on a Sunday afternoon, if—which he did not believe—any old woman existed, in that part of the world, who had more money than wit.

This witness was kept in the chair for three days, during which Mr. Vigil was nearly driven wild by the loss of his valuable time. But he did not complain. Nor would he have complained, though he might have absented himself, had the witness been kept in the chair three weeks instead of three days. The expense of the committee, including witnesses, shorthand-writers, and printing, was about L60 a day, but it never occurred to any one of the number to get up and declare with indignation, that such a waste of money and time on so palpably absurd a scheme was degrading, and to demand an immediate close of their labours. It all went smoothly to the end, and Mr. Nogo walked off from his task with the approving conscience of a patriotic legislator.

At the close the members met to prepare their report. It was then the first week in August, and they were naturally in a hurry to finish their work. It was now their duty to decide on the merits of what they had heard, to form a judgement as to the veracity of the witnesses, and declare, on behalf of the country which they represented, whether or no this bridge should be built at the expense of the nation.

With his decision each was ready enough; but not one of them dreamed of being influenced by anything which had been said before them. All the world—that is, all that were in any way concerned in the matter—knew that the witnesses for the bridge were anxious to have it built, and that the witnesses against the bridge were anxious to prevent the building. It would be the worst of ignorance, ignorance of the usage of the world we live in, to suppose that any member of Parliament could be influenced by such manoeuvres. Besides, was not the mind of each man fully known before the committee met?

Various propositions were made by the members among themselves, and various amendments moved. The balance of the different parties had been nearly preserved. A decided victory was not to be expected on either side. At last the resolution to which the committee came was this: 'That this committee is not prepared, under existing circumstances, to recommend a grant of public money for the purpose of erecting a bridge at Limehouse; but that the committee consider that the matter is still open to consideration should further evidence be adduced.'

Mr. Vigil was perfectly satisfied. He did not wish to acerbate the member for Mile End, and was quite willing to give him a lift towards keeping his seat for the borough, if able to do so without cost to the public exchequer. At Limehouse the report of the committee was declared by certain persons to be as good as a decision in their favour; it was only postponing the matter for another session. But Mr. Vigil knew that he had carried his point, and the world soon agreed with him. He at least did his work successfully, and, considering the circumstances of his position, he did it with credit to himself.

A huge blue volume was then published, containing, among other things, all Mr. Nogo's 2,250 questions and their answers; and so the Limehouse and Rotherhithe bridge dropped into oblivion and was forgotten.



CHAPTER XXXIII

TO STAND, OR NOT TO STAND

Sir Gregory Hardlines had been somewhat startled by Alaric's announcement of his parliamentary intentions. It not unnaturally occurred to that great man that should Mr. Tudor succeed at Strathbogy, and should he also succeed in being allowed to hold his office and seat together, he, Tudor, would very soon become first fiddle at the Civil Service Examination Board. This was a view of the matter which was by no means agreeable to Sir Gregory. Not for this had he devoted his time, his energy, and the best powers of his mind to the office of which he was at present the chief; not for this had he taken by the hand a young clerk, and brought him forward, and pushed him up, and seated him in high places. To have kept Mr. Jobbles would have been better than this; he, at any rate, would not have aspired to parliamentary honours.

And when Sir Gregory came to look into it, he hardly knew whether those bugbears with which he had tried to frighten Tudor were good serviceable bugbears, such as would stand the strain of such a man's logic and reason. Was there really any reason why one of the commissioners should not sit in Parliament? Would his doing so be subversive of the constitution? Or would the ministers of the day object to an additional certain vote? This last point of view was one in which it did not at all delight Sir Gregory to look at the subject in question. He determined that he would not speak on the matter to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, or to any of the Government wigs who might be considered to be bigger wigs than himself.

And Alaric thought over the matter coolly also. He looked at it till the bugbears shrank into utter insignificance; till they became no more than forms of shreds and patches put up to frighten birds out of cherry-orchards.

Why should the constitution be wounded by the presence of one more commissioner in Parliament? Why should not he do his public duty and hold his seat at the same time, as was done by so many others? But he would have to go out if the ministry went out. That was another difficulty, another bugbear, more substantial perhaps than the others; but he was prepared to meet even that. He was a poor man; his profession was that of the Civil Service; his ambition was to sit in Parliament. He would see whether he could not combine his poverty with his profession, and with his ambition also. Sir Gregory resolved in his fear that he would not speak to the Chancellor of the Exchequer on the matter; Alaric, on the other hand, in his audacity, resolved that he would do so.

It was thus that Sir Gregory regarded the matter. 'See all that I have done for this man,' said he to himself; 'see how I have warmed him in my bosom, how I have lifted him to fortune and renown, how I have heaped benefits on his head! If gratitude in this world be possible, that man should be grateful to me; if one man can ever have another's interest at heart, that man should have a heartfelt anxiety as to my interest. And yet how is it? I have placed him in the chair next to my own, and now he is desirous of sitting above me!'

'Twas thus Sir Gregory communed with himself. But Alaric's soliloquy was very different. A listener who could have overheard both would hardly have thought that the same question was being discussed by the two. 'I have got so high,' said Alaric, 'by my own labour, by my own skill and tact; and why should I stop here? I have left my earliest colleagues far behind me; have distanced those who were my competitors in the walk of life; why should I not still go on and distance others also? why stop when I am only second or third? It is very natural that Sir Gregory should wish to keep me out of Parliament; I cannot in the least blame him; let us all fight as best each may for himself. He does not wish a higher career; I do. Sir Gregory will now do all that he can to impede my views, because they are antagonistic to his own; very well; I must only work the harder to overcome his objections.' There was no word in all this of gratitude; there was no thought in Alaric's mind that it behoved him to be grateful to Sir Gregory. It was for his own sake, not for his pupil's, that Sir Gregory had brought this pupil forward. Grateful, indeed! In public life when is there time for gratitude? Who ever thinks of other interest than his own?

Such was Alaric's theory of life. But not the less would he have expected gratitude from those whom he might serve. Such also very probably was Sir Gregory's theory when he thought of those who had helped him, instead of those whom he himself had helped.

And so they met, and discussed Alaric's little proposition.

'Since I saw you yesterday,' said Sir Gregory, 'I have been thinking much of what you were saying to me of your wish to go into Parliament.'

'I am very much obliged to you,' said Alaric.

'I need hardly tell you, Tudor, how anxious I am to further your advancement. I greatly value your ability and diligence, and have shown that I am anxious to make them serviceable to the public.'

'I am fully aware that I owe you a great deal, Sir Gregory.'

'Oh, I don't mean that; that's nothing; I am not thinking of myself. I only want you to understand that I am truly anxious to see you take that line in public matters which may make your services most valuable to the public, and which may redound the most to your own advantage. I have thought of what you said to me with the most mature deliberation, and I am persuaded that I shall best do my duty to you, and to the service, by recommending you to abandon altogether your idea of going into Parliament.'

Sir Gregory said this in his weightiest manner. He endeavoured to assume some of that authority with which he had erst cowed the young Tudor at the Weights and Measures, and as he finished his speech he assumed a profound look which ought to have been very convincing.

But the time was gone by with Alaric when such tricks of legerdemain were convincing to him. A grave brow, compressed lips, and fixed eyes, had no longer much effect upon him. He had a point to gain, and he was thinking of that, and not of Sir Gregory's grimaces.

'Then you will not see the Chancellor of the Exchequer on the subject?'

'No,' said Sir Gregory; 'it would be useless for me to do so. I could not advocate such a scheme, feeling certain that it would be injurious both to yourself and to the service; and I would not desire to see the Chancellor with the view of opposing your wishes.'

'I am much obliged to you for that, at any rate,' said Alaric.

'But I do hope that you will not carry your plan any farther. When I tell you, as I do with the utmost sincerity, that I feel certain that an attempt to seat yourself in Parliament can only lead to the ruin of your prospects as a Civil servant—prospects which are brighter now than those of any other young man in the service—I cannot but think that you must hesitate before you take any step which will, in my opinion, render your resignation necessary.'

'I shall be sorry to resign, Sir Gregory, as I have such true pleasure in serving with you.'

'And, I presume, a salary of L1,200 a year is not unacceptable?' said Sir Gregory, with the very faintest of smiles.

'By no means,' said Alaric; 'I am a poor man, depending altogether on my own exertions for an income. I cannot afford to throw away a chance.'

'Then take my word for it, you should give up all idea of Parliament,' said Sir Gregory, who thought that he had carried his point.

'But I call a seat in Parliament a chance,' said Alaric; 'the best chance that a man, circumstanced as I am, can possibly have. I have the offer of a seat, Sir Gregory, and I can't afford to throw it away.'

'Then it is my duty to tell you, as the head of your office, that it will be your duty to resign before you offer yourself as a candidate.'

'That you mean is your present opinion, Sir Gregory?'

'Yes, Mr. Tudor, that is my opinion—an opinion which I shall be forced to express to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, if you persist in this infatuation.'

Alaric looked very grave, but not a whit angry. 'I am sorry for it, Sir Gregory, very sorry; I had hoped to have had your countenance.'

'I would give it you, Mr. Tudor, if I could consistently with my duty as a public servant; but as I cannot, I am sure you will not ask for it.' How Fidus Neverbend would have admired the chief commissioner could he have seen and heard him at this moment! 'But,' he continued, relaxing for a while the muscles of his face, 'I hope, I do hope, you will think better of this. What are you to gain? Come, Tudor, think of it that way. What are you to gain? You, with a wife and young family coming up about your heels, what are you to gain by going into Parliament? That is what I ask you. What are you to gain?' It was delightful to see how pleasantly practical Sir Gregory could become when he chose to dismount from his high horse.

'It is considered a high position in this country, that of a member of Parliament,' said Alaric. 'A man in gaining that is generally supposed to have gained something.'

'True, quite true. It is a desirable position for a rich man, or a rich man's eldest son, or even for a poor man, if by getting into Parliament he can put himself in the way of improving his income. But, my dear Tudor, you are in none of these positions. Abandon the idea, my dear Tudor—pray abandon it. If not for your own sake, at any rate do so for that of your wife and child.'

Sir Gregory might as well have whistled. Not a word that he said had the slightest effect on Alaric. How was it possible that his words should have any effect, seeing that Alaric was convinced that Sir Gregory was pleading for his own advantage, and not for that of his listener? Alaric did listen. He received all that Sir Gregory said with the most profound attention; schooled his face into a look of the most polite deference; and then, with his most cruel tone, informed Sir Gregory that his mind was quite made up, and that he did intend to submit himself to the electors of Strathbogy.

'And as to what you say about my seat at the board, Sir Gregory, you may probably be right. Perhaps it will be as well that I should see the Chancellor of the Exchequer myself.'

'"Who will to Cupar maun to Cupar,"' said Sir Gregory; 'I can only say, Mr. Tudor, that I am very sorry for you, and very sorry for your wife—very sorry, very sorry indeed.'

'And who will to Strathbogy maun to Strathbogy,' said Alaric, laughing; 'there is certainly an air of truth about the proverb as applied to myself just at present. But the fact is, whether for good or for bad, I maun to Strathbogy. That is my present destiny. The fact that I have a wife and a child does make the step a most momentous one. But, Sir Gregory, I should never forgive myself were I to throw away such an opportunity.'

'Then I have nothing more to say, Mr. Tudor.'

'Of course I shall try to save my place,' continued Alaric.

'I look upon that as quite impossible,' said Sir Gregory.

'It can do me no harm at any rate to see the Chancellor of the Exchequer. If he tells me that a seat in Parliament and a seat at the board are incompatible, and that as one of the Civil Service Commissioners I am not free to stand for the borough, I will in that case, Sir Gregory, put my resignation in your hands before I publish my address.'

And so they parted, each determined to do all that in him lay to thwart the wishes of the other. Alaric was not in the least influenced by anything that Sir Gregory had said to him; he had made up his mind, and was determined to be turned from it by no arguments that his colleague could use; but nevertheless he could not but be meditative, as, walking home across the Parks, he thought of his wife and child. It is true that he had a second trade; he was a stock-jobber as well as a Civil Service Commissioner; but he already perceived how very difficult it was to realize an income to which he could trust from that second precarious pursuit. He had also lived in a style considerably beyond that which his official income would have enabled him to assume. He had on the whole, he thought, done very well; but yet it would be a dreadful thing to have to trust to so precarious a livelihood. He had realized nothing; he had not yet been able to pay back the money which he had so fraudulently taken, and to acquit himself of a debt which now lay daily heavier and heavier on his soul. He felt that he must repay not only that but Undy's share also, before he could again pass a happy day or a quiet night. This plan of throwing up L1,200 a year would badly assist him in getting rid of this incubus.

But still that watchword of his goaded him on—'Excelsior!' he still said to himself; 'Excelsior!' If he halted now, now when the ball was at his foot, he might never have another chance. Very early in life before a beard was on his chin, before he could style himself a man according to the laws of his country, he had determined within himself that a seat in Parliament was the only fitting ambition for an Englishman. That was now within his reach. Would he be such a dastard as to draw back his hand, and be deterred from taking it, by old women's tales of prudence, and the self-interested lectures of Sir Gregory Hardlines?

'Excelsior!' There was not much that could be so styled in that debt of his to M. and Madame Jaquetanape. If he could only pay that off he felt that he could brave the world without a fear. Come what come might he would sell out and do so. The bridge committee was sitting, and his shares were already worth more than he had paid for them. Mr. Blocks had just given his evidence, and the commercial world was willing enough to invest in the Limehouse bridge. He would sell out and put his conscience at rest.

But then to do so successfully, he must induce Undy to do so too; and that he knew would not at present be an easy task. Who had ever been successful in getting back money from Undy Scott? He had paid the last half-year's interest with most commendable punctuality, and was not that a great deal from Undy Scott?

But what if this appropriation of another's money, what if this fraud should be detected and exposed before he had succeeded in paying back the L10,000. What if he should wake some morning and find himself in the grip of some Newgate myrmidon? A terrible new law had just been passed for the protection of trust property; a law in which he had not felt the slightest interest when he had first seen in the daily newspapers some tedious account of the passing of the various clauses, but which was now terrible to his innermost thoughts.

His walk across the Parks was not made happy by much self- triumph. In spite of his commissionership and coming parliamentary honours, his solitary moments were seldom very happy. It was at his club, when living with Undy and Undy's peers, that he was best able to throw off his cares and enjoy himself. But even then, high as he was mounted on his fast-trotting horse, black Care would sit behind him, ever mounted on the same steed.

And bitterly did poor Gertrude feel the misery of these evenings which her husband passed at his club; but she never reviled him or complained; she never spoke of her sorrow even to her mother or sister. She did not even blame him in her own heart. She knew that he had other business than that of his office, higher hopes than those attached to his board; and she taught herself to believe that his career required him to be among public men.

He had endeavoured to induce her to associate constantly with Mrs. Val, so that her evenings might not be passed alone; but Gertrude, after trying Mrs. Val for a time, had quietly repudiated the closeness of this alliance. Mrs. Val had her ideas of 'Excelsior,' her ambition to rule, and these ideas and this ambition did not at all suit Gertrude's temper. Not even for her husband's sake could she bring herself to be patronized by Mrs. Val. They were still very dear friends, of course; but they did not live in each other's arms as Alaric had intended they should do.

He returned home after his interview with Sir Gregory, and found his wife in the drawing-room with her child. He usually went down from his office to his club, and she was therefore the more ready to welcome him for having broken through his habit on the present occasion.

She left her infant sprawling on the floor, and came up to greet him with a kiss.

'Ger,'—said he, putting his arm round her and embracing her—'I have come home to consult you on business;' and then he seated himself on the sofa, taking her with him, and still in his arms. There was but little doubt that she would consent to anything which he could propose to her after such a fashion, in such a guise as this; that he knew full well.

'Well, love,' said she, 'and what is the business about? You know that I always think that to be best which you think to be best.'

'Yes, Ger; but this is a very important matter;' and then he looked grave, but managed at the same time to look happy and contented. 'This is a matter of vital importance to you, and I will do nothing in it without your consent.'

'What is best for you must be best for me,' said Gertrude, kissing his forehead.

Then he explained to her what had passed between himself and Sir Gregory, and what his own ideas were as regarded the borough of Strathbogy. 'Sir Gregory,' said he, 'is determined that I shall not remain at the board and sit in Parliament at the same time; but I do not see why Sir Gregory is to have his own way in everything. If you are not afraid of the risk, I will make up my mind to stand it at all events, and to resign if the Minister makes it imperative. If, however, you fear the result, I will let the matter drop, and tell the Scotts to find another candidate. I am anxious to go into Parliament, I confess; but I will never do so at the expense of your peace of mind.'

The way in which he put upon her the whole weight of the decision was not generous. Nor was the mode he adopted of inducing her to back his own wishes. If there were risk to her—and in truth there was fearful risk—it was his duty to guard her from the chance, not hers to say whether such danger should be encountered or no. The nature of her answer may be easily surmised. She was generous, though he was not. She would never retard his advance, or be felt as a millstone round his neck. She encouraged him with all her enthusiasm, and bade him throw prudence to the winds. If he rose, must she not rise also? Whatever step in life was good for him, must it not be good for her as well? And so that matter was settled between them—pleasantly enough.

He endured a fortnight of considerable excitement, during which he and Sir Gregory did not smile at each other, and then he saw the Chancellor of the Exchequer. That gentleman promised to speak to the Prime Minister, feeling himself unable to answer the question put to him, definitely out of his own head; and then another fortnight passed on. At the end of that time the Chancellor of the Exchequer sent for Alaric, and they had a second interview.

'Well, Mr. Tudor,' said the great man, 'this is a matter of very considerable importance, and one on which I am not even yet prepared to give you a positive answer.'

This was very good news for Alaric. Sir Gregory had spoken of the matter as one on which there could be no possible doubt. He had asserted that the British lion would no longer sleep peaceably in his lair, if such a violence were put on the constitution as that meditated by the young commissioner. It was quite clear that the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and the Prime Minister also, looked at it in a very different light. They doubted, and Alaric was well aware that their doubt was as good as certainty to him.

The truth was that the Prime Minister had said to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, in a half-serious, half-jocular way, that he didn't see why he should reject a vote when offered to him by a member of the Civil Service. The man must of course do his work— and should it be found that his office work and his seat in Parliament interfered with each other, why, he must take the consequences. And if—or—or—made a row about it in the House and complained, why in that case also Mr. Tudor must take the consequences. And then, enough having been said on that matter, the conversation dropped.

'I am not prepared to give a positive answer,' said the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who of course did not choose to commit himself.

Alaric assured the great man that he was not so unreasonable as to expect a positive answer. Positive answers, as he well knew, were not often forthcoming among official men; official men, as he had already learnt, prefer to do their business by answers which are not positive. He himself had become adverse to positive answers since he had become a commissioner, and was quite prepared to dispense with them in the parliamentary career which he hoped that he was now about to commence. This much, however, was quite clear, that he might offer himself as a candidate to the electors of Strathbogy without resigning; and that Sir Gregory's hostile remonstrance on the subject, should he choose to make one, would not be received as absolute law by the greater powers.

Accordingly as Alaric was elated, Sir Gregory was depressed. He had risen high, but now this young tyro whom he had fostered was about to climb above his head. O the ingratitude of men!

Alaric, however, showed no triumph. He was more submissive, more gracious than ever to his chief. It was only to himself that he muttered 'Excelsior!



CHAPTER XXXIV

WESTMINSTER HALL

The parliamentary committee pursued their animated inquiries respecting the Limehouse bridge all through the sultry month of July. How Mr. Vigil must have hated Mr. Nogo, and the M'Carthy Desmond! how sick he must have been of that eternal witness who, with imperturbable effrontery, answered the 2,250 questions put to him without admitting anything! To Mr. Vigil it was all mere nonsense, sheer waste of time. Had he been condemned to sit for eight days in close contiguity to the clappers of a small mill, he would have learnt as much as he did from the witnesses before the committee. Nevertheless he went through it and did not lose his temper. He smiled sweetly on Mr. Nogo every morning, and greeted the titled Irishman with his easy familiar nod, as though the continued sitting of this very committee was of all things to him the most desirable. Such is Mr. Vigil's peculiar tact, such his special talent; these are the gifts—gifts by no means ordinary—which have made him Right Honourable, and recommended him to the confidence of successive badgers.

But though the committee was uninteresting to Mr. Vigil, it was not so to the speculative inhabitants of Limehouse, or to the credulous shopkeepers of Rotherhithe. On the evening of the day on which Mr. Blocks was examined, the shares went up 20 per cent; and when his evidence was published in extenso the next Saturday morning by the Capel Court Share-buyer, a periodical which served for Bible and Prayer-book, as well as a Compendium of the Whole Duty of Man, to Undy Scott and his friends, a further rise in the price of this now valuable property was the immediate consequence.

Now, then, was the time for Alaric to sell and get out of his difficulties if ever he could do so. Shares which he bought for 30s. were now worth nearly L2 10s. He was strongly of opinion that they would fall again, and that the final result of the committee would leave them of a less value than their original purchase-money, and probably altogether valueless. He could not, however, act in the matter without consulting Undy, so closely linked were they in the speculation; and even at the present price his own shares would not enable him to pay back the full amount of what he had taken.

The joint property of the two was, however, at its present market price, worth L12,000—L10,000 would make him a free man. He was perfectly willing to let Undy have the full use of the difference in amount; nay, he was ready enough to give it to him altogether, if by so doing he could place the whole of his ward's money once more in safety. With the power of offering such a douceur to his friend's rapacity, he flattered himself that he might have a chance of being successful. He was thus prepared to discuss the matter with his partner.

It so happened that at the same moment Undy was desirous of discussing the same subject, their joint interest, namely, in the Limehouse bridge; there was no difficulty therefore in their coming together. They met at the door of the committee-room when Mr. Nogo had just put his 999th question to the adverse witness; and as the summons to prayers prevented the 1,000th being proceeded with at that moment, Undy and Alaric sauntered back along the passages, and then walking up and down the immense space of Westminster Hall, said each to the other what he had to say on the matter mooted between them.

Undy was in great glee, and seemed to look on his fortune as already made. They had at first confined their remarks to the special evidence of the witness who had last been in the chair; and Undy, with the volubility which was common to him when he was in high spirits, had been denouncing him as an ass who was injuring his own cause by his over obstinacy.

'Nothing that he can say,' said Undy, 'will tell upon the share- market. The stock is rising from hour to hour; and Piles himself told me that he knew from sure intelligence that the Chancellor of the Exchequer is prepared to give way, whatever Vigil may say to the contrary. Their firm, Piles says, is buying every share they can lay their hands on.'

'Then in God's name let them buy ours,' said Alaric.

'Buy ours!' said Undy. 'You don't mean to tell me that you wish to sell now? You don't mean to say that you want to back out, now that the game is all going our own way?'

'Indeed I do, and I intend to do so; just listen to me, Undy——'

'I tell you fairly, Tudor, I will not sell a share; what you may choose to do with your own I cannot say. But if you will be guided by me you will keep every share you have got. Instead of selling we should both add to our stock. I at any rate am resolved to do so.'

'Listen to me, Undy,' said Alaric.

'The truth is,' said Undy—who at the present moment preferred talking to listening—'the truth is, you do not understand buying and selling shares. We should both be ruined very quickly were I to allow myself to be led by you; you are too timid, too much afraid of risking your money; your speculative pluck hardly rises higher than the Three per cents, and never soars above a first- class mortgage on land.'

'I could be as sanguine as you are, and as bold,' said Alaric, 'were I venturing with my own money.'

'In the name of goodness get that bugbear out of your head,' said Undy. 'Whatever good it might have done you to think of that some time ago, it can do you no good now.' There was a bitter truth in this which made Alaric's heart sink low within his breast. 'Wherever the money came from, whose property it may have been or be, it has been used; and now your only safety is in making the best use of it. A little daring, a little audacity—it is that which ruins men. When you sit down to play brag, you must brag it out, or lose your money.'

'But, my dear fellow, there is no question here of losing money. If we sell now we shall realize about L2,000.'

'And will that, or the half of that, satisfy you? Is that your idea of a good thing? Will that be sufficient to pay for the dozen of bad things which a fellow is always putting his foot into? It won't satisfy me. I can tell you that, at any rate.'

Alaric felt very desirous of keeping Undy in a good humour. He wished, if possible, to persuade him rather than to drive him; to coax him into repaying this money, and not absolutely to demand the repayment. 'Come,' said he, 'what do you call a good thing yourself?'

'I call cent per cent a good thing, and I'll not sell a share till they come up to that.'

'They'll never do that, Undy.'

'That's your opinion. I think differently. And I'm sure you will own I have had more experience of the share-market than you have. When I see such men as Blocks and Piles buying fast, I know very well which way the wind blows. A man may be fishing a long time, Tudor, in these waters, before he gets such a haul as this; but he must be a great fool to let go his net when he does get it.'

They both then remained silent for a time, for each was doubtful how best to put forward the view which he himself wished to urge. Their projects were diametrically different, and yet neither could carry his own without the assistance of the other.

'I tell you what I propose,' said Undy.

'Wait a moment, Undy,' said Alaric; 'listen to me for one moment. I can hear nothing till you do so, and then I will hear anything.'

'Well, what is it?'

We have each of us put something near to L5,000 into this venture.'

'I have put more,' said Scott.

'Very well. But we have each of us withdrawn a sum equal to that I have named from my ward's fortune for this purpose.'

'I deny that,' said Undy. 'I have taken nothing from your ward's fortune. I have had no power to do so. You have done as you pleased with that fortune. But I am ready to admit that I have borrowed L5,000—not from your ward, but from you.'

Alaric was nearly beside himself; but he still felt that he should have no chance of carrying his point if he lost his temper.

'That is ungenerous of you, Scott, to say the least of it; but we'll let that pass. To enable me to lend you the L5,000, and to enable me to join you in this speculation, L10,000 has been withdrawn from Clementina's fortune.'

'I know nothing about that,' said Scott.

'Know nothing about it!' said Alaric, looking at him with withering scorn. But Undy was not made of withering material, and did not care a straw for his friend's scorn.

'Nothing whatever,' said he.

'Well, so be it,' said Alaric; 'but the fact is, the money has been withdrawn.'

'I don't doubt that in the least,' said Undy. 'I am not now going to argue whether the fault has been most mine or yours,' continued Alaric.

'Well, that is kind of you,' said Undy, 'considering that you are the girl's trustee, and that I have no more to do with it than that fellow in the wig there.'

'I wish at any rate you would let me explain myself,' said Alaric, who felt that his patience was fast going, and who could hardly resist the temptation of seizing his companion by the throat, and punishing him on the spot for his iniquity.

'I don't prevent you, my dear fellow—only remember this: I will not permit you to assert, without contradicting you, that I am responsible for Clem's fortune. Now, go on, and explain away as hard as you like.'

Alaric, under these circumstances, found it not very easy to put what he had to say into any words that his companion would admit. He fully intended at some future day to thrust Scott's innocence down his throat, and tell him that he was not only a thief, but a mean, lying, beggarly thief. But the present was not the time. Too much depended on his inducing Undy to act with him.

'Ten thousand pounds has at any rate been taken.'

'That I won't deny.'

'And half that sum has been lent to you.'

'I acknowledge a debt of L5,000.'

'It is imperative that L10,000 should at once be repaid.'

'I have no objection in life.'

'I can sell my shares in the Limehouse bridge,' continued Alaric, 'for L6,000, and I am prepared to do so.'

'The more fool you,' said Undy,' if you do it; especially as L6,000 won't pay L10,000, and as the same property, if overheld another month or two, in all probability will do so.'

'I am ready to sacrifice that and more than that,' said Alaric. 'If you will sell out L4,000, and let me at once have that amount, so as to make up the full sum I owe, I will make you a free present of the remainder of the debt. Come, Undy, you cannot but call that a good thing. You will have pocketed two thousand pounds, according to the present market value of the shares, and that without the slightest risk.'

Undy for a while seemed staggered by the offer. Whether it was Alaric's extreme simplicity in making it, or his own good luck in receiving it, or whether by any possible chance some all but dormant remnant of feeling within his heart was touched, we will not pretend to say. But for a while he walked on silent, as though wavering in his resolution, and looking as if he wished to be somewhat more civil, somewhat less of the bully, than he had been.

There was no one else to whom Alaric could dare to open his heart on this subject of his ward's fortune; there was none other but this ally of his to whom he could confide, whom he could consult. Unpromising, therefore, though Undy was as a confederate, Alaric, when he thought he saw this change in his manner, poured forth at once the full tide of his feelings.

'Undy,' said he, 'pray bear with me a while. The truth is, I cannot endure this misery any longer. I do not now want to blame anyone but myself. The thing has been done, and it is useless now to talk of blame. The thing has been done, and all that now remains for me is to undo it; to put this girl's money back again, and get this horrid weight from off my breast.'

'Upon my word, my dear fellow, I did not think that you took it in such a light as that,' said Undy.

'I am miserable about it,' said Alaric. 'It keeps me awake all night, and destroys all my energy during the day.'

'Oh, that's all bile,' said Undy. 'You should give up fish for a few days, and take a blue pill at night.'

'Scott, this money must be paid back at once, or I shall lose my senses. Fortune has so far favoured me as to enable me to put my hand at once on the larger portion of it. You must let me have the remainder. In God's name say that you will do so.'

Undy Scott unfortunately had not the power to do as he was asked. Whether he would have done so, had he had the power, may be doubtful. He was somewhat gravelled for an answer to Alaric's earnest supplication, and therefore made none till the request was repeated.

'In God's name let me have this money,' repeated Alaric. 'You will then have made two thousand pounds by the transaction.'

'My dear Tudor,' said he, 'your stomach is out of order, I can see it as well as possible from the way you talk.'

Here was an answer for a man to get to the most earnest appeal which he could make! Here was comfort for a wretch suffering from fear, remorse, and shame, as Alaric was suffering. He had spoken of his feelings and his heart, but these were regions quite out of Undy Scott's cognizance. 'Take a blue pill,' said he, 'and you'll be as right as a trivet in a couple of days.'

What was Alaric to say? What could he say to a man who at such a crisis could talk to him of blue pills? For a while he said nothing; but the form of his face changed, a darkness came over his brow which Scott had never before seen there, the colour flew from his face, his eyes sparkled, and a strange appearance of resolute defiance showed itself round his mouth. Scott began to perceive that his medical advice would not be taken in good part.

'Scott,' said he, stopping short in his walk and taking hold of the collar of his companion's coat, not loosely by the button, but with a firm grip which Undy felt that it would be difficult to shake off—'Scott, you will find that I am not to be trifled with. You have made a villain of me. I can see no way to escape from my ruin without your aid; but by the living God, if I fall, you shall fall with me. Tell me now; will you let me have the sum I demand? If you do not, I will go to your brother's wife and tell her what has become of her daughter's money.'

'You may go to the devil's wife if you like it,' said Undy, 'and tell her whatever you please.'

'You refuse, then?' said Alaric, still keeping hold of Undy's coat.

'Come, take your hand off,' said Undy. 'You will make me think your head is wrong as well as your stomach, if you go on like this. Take your hand off and listen to me. I will then explain to you why I cannot do what you would have me. Take your hand away, I say; do you not see that people are looking at us.'

They were now standing at the upper end of the hall—close under the steps which lead to the Houses of Parliament; and, as Undy said, the place was too public for a display of physical resentment. Alaric took his hand away. 'Well,' said he, 'now tell me what is to hinder you from letting me have the money you owe me?'

'Only this,' said Undy, 'that every share I have in the concern is made over by way of security to old M'Cleury, and he now holds them. Till I have redeemed them, I have no power of selling.'

Alaric, when he heard these words, could hardly prevent himself from falling in the middle of the hall. All his hopes were then over; he had no chance of shaking this intolerable burden from his shoulders; he had taken the woman's money, this money which had been entrusted to his honour and safe-keeping, and thrown it into a bottomless gulf.

'And now listen to me,' said Undy, looking at his watch. 'I must be in the House in ten or fifteen minutes, for this bill about married women is on, and I am interested in it: listen to me now for five minutes. All this that you have been saying is sheer nonsense.'

'I think you'll find that it is not all nonsense,' said Alaric.

'Oh, I am not in the least afraid of your doing anything rash. You'll be cautious enough I know when you come to be cool; especially if you take a little physic. What I want to say is this—Clem's money is safe enough. I tell you these bridge shares will go on rising till the beginning of next session. Instead of selling, what we should do is to buy up six or seven thousand pounds more.'

'What, with Clementina's money?'

'It's as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Besides, your doing so is your only safety. My brother Val insists upon having 250 shares.'

'Your brother Val!' said Alaric.

'Yes, Val; and why shouldn't he? I would give them to him if I could, but I can't. M'Cleury, as I tell you, has every share of mine in his possession.'

'Your brother Val wants 250 shares! And does he expect me to give them to him?'

'Well—I rather think he does. That is, not to give them, of course; you don't suppose he wants you to make him a present of money. But he wants you to accommodate him with the price of them. You can either do that, or let him have so many of your own; it will be as broad as it is long; and he'll give you his note of hand for the amount.'

Now it was well known among the acquaintance of the Scott family, that the note of hand of the Honourable Captain Val was not worth the paper on which it was written.

Alaric was so astonished at this monstrous request, coming as it did after such a conversation, that he did not well know how to take it.

Was Undy mad, or was he in joke? What man in his senses would think of lending six or seven hundred pounds to Val Scott! 'I suppose you are in jest,' said he, somewhat bitterly.

'I never was more in earnest in my life,' said Undy. 'I'll just explain how the matter is; and as you are sharp enough, you'll see at once that you had better oblige him. Val, you know, is always hard up; he can't touch a shilling of that woman's money, and just at present he has none of his own. So he came to me this morning to raise the wind.'

'And you are kind enough to pass him on to me.'

'Listen a moment. I did not do anything of the kind. I never lend money to Val. It's a principle with me not to do so, and he knows it.'

'Then just tell him that my principles in this respect are identical with your own.'

'That's all very well; and you may tell him so yourself, if you like it; but hear first of all what his arguments are. Of course I told him I could do nothing for him. 'But,' said he, 'you can get Tudor to do it.' I told him, of course, that I could do nothing of the kind. 'Oh!' said Val, 'I know the game you are both playing. I know all about Clem's money.' Val, you know, never says much. He was playing pool at the time, at the club; but he came back after his stroke, and whispered to me—'You and Tudor must let me have 250 of those shares, and then it'll be all right.' Now Val, you know, is a most determined fellow.

Alaric, when he heard this, looked up into his companion's face to see whether he was talking to the Evil One himself. Oh, what a net of ruin was closing round him!—how inextricable were the toils into which he had fallen!

'After all,' continued Undy,' what he asks is not much, and I really think you should do it for him. He is quite willing to give you his assistance at Strathbogy, and he is entitled to some accommodation.'

'Some accommodation!' repeated Alaric, almost lost in the consideration of his own misery.

'Yes; I really think he is. And, Tudor, you may be sure of this, you know; you will be quite safe with him. Val is the very soul of honour. Do this for him, and you'll hear no more about it. You may be quite sure he'll ask for nothing further, and that he'll never say a word to annoy you. He's devilish honourable is Val; no man can be more so; though, perhaps, you wouldn't think it.'

'Devilish honourable!' said Alaric. 'Only he would like to have a bribe.'

'A bribe!' said Scott. 'Come, my dear fellow, don't you make an ass of yourself. Val is like the rest of us; when money is going, he likes to have a share of it. If you come to that, every man who is paid either for talking or for not talking is bribed.'

'I don't know that I ever heard of a much clearer case of a bribe than this which you now demand for your brother.'

'Bribe or no bribe,' said Undy, looking at his watch, 'I strongly advise you to do for him what he asks; it will be better for all of us. And let me give you another piece of advice: never use hard words among friends. Do you remember the Mary Janes which Manylodes brought for you in his pocket to the hotel at Tavistock?' Here Alaric turned as pale as a spectre. 'Don't talk of bribes, my dear fellow. We are all of us giving and taking bribes from our cradles to our graves; but men of the world generally call them by some prettier names. Now, if you are not desirous to throw your cards up altogether, get these shares for Val, and let him or me have them to-morrow morning.' And so saying Undy disappeared into the House, through the side door out of the hall, which is appropriated to the use of honourable members.

And then Alaric was left alone. He had never hitherto realized the true facts of the position in which he had placed himself; but now he did so. He was in the hands of these men, these miscreants, these devils; he was completely at their mercy, and he already felt that they were as devoid of mercy as they were of justice. A cold sweat broke out all over him, and he continued walking up and down the hall, ignorant as to where he was and what he was doing, almost thoughtless, stunned, as it were, by his misery and the conviction that he was a ruined man. He had remained there an hour after Undy had left him, before he roused himself sufficiently to leave the hall and think of returning home. It was then seven o'clock, and he remembered that he had asked his cousin to dine with him. He got into a cab, therefore, and desired to be driven home.

What was he to do? On one point he instantly made up his mind. He would not give one shilling to Captain Val; he would not advance another shilling to Undy; and he would at once sell out his own shares, and make such immediate restitution as might now be in his power. The mention of Manylodes and the mining shares had come home to him with frightful reality, and nearly stunned him. What right, indeed, had he to talk of bribes with scorn—he who so early in his own life had allowed himself to be bought? How could he condemn the itching palm of such a one as Val Scott—he who had been so ready to open his own when he had been tempted by no want, by no poverty?

He would give nothing to Captain Val to bribe him to silence. He knew that if he did so, he would be a slave for ever. The appetite of such a shark as that, when once he has tasted blood, is unappeasable. There is nothing so ruinous as buying the silence of a rogue who has a secret.

What you buy you never possess; and the price that is once paid must be repaid again and again, as often as the rogue may demand it. Any alternative must be better than this.

And yet what other alternative was there? He did not doubt that Val, when disappointed of his prey, would reveal whatever he might know to his wife, or to his stepson. Then there would be nothing for Alaric but confession and ruin. And how could he believe what Undy Scott had told him? Who else could have given information against him but Undy himself? Who else could have put up so heavily stupid a man as Captain Scott to make such a demand? Was it not clear that his own colleague, his own partner, his own intimate associate, Undy Scott himself, was positively working out his ruin? Where were now his high hopes, where now his seat in Parliament, his authority at the board, his proud name, his soaring ambition, his constant watchword? 'Excelsior' —ah me—no! no longer 'Excelsior'; but he thought of the cells of Newgate, of convict prisons, and then of his young wife and of his baby.

He made an effort to assume his ordinary demeanour, and partially succeeded. He went at once up to his drawing-room, and there he found Charley and Gertrude waiting dinner for him; luckily he had no other guests.

'Are you ill, Alaric?' said Gertrude, directly she saw him.

'Ill! No,' said he; 'only fagged, dearest; fagged and worried, and badgered and bored; but, thank God, not ill;' and he endeavoured to put on his usual face, and speak in his usual tone. 'I have kept you waiting most unmercifully for your dinner, Charley; but then I know you navvies always lunch on mutton chops.'

'Oh, I am not particularly in a hurry,' said Charley; 'but I deny the lunch. This has been a bad season for mutton chops in the neighbourhood of Somerset House; somehow they have not grown this year.'

Alaric ran up to prepare for dinner, and his wife followed him.

'Oh! Alaric,' said she, 'you are so pale: what is the matter? Do tell me,' and she put her arm through his, took hold of his hand, and looked up into his face.

'The matter! Nothing is the matter—a man can't always be grinning;' and he gently shook her off, and walked through their bedroom to his own dressing-room. Having entered it he shut the door, and then, sitting down, bowed his head upon a small table and buried it in his hands. All the world seemed to go round and round with him; he was giddy, and he felt that he could not stand.

Gertrude paused a moment in the bedroom to consider, and then followed him. 'What is it you want?' said he, as soon as he heard the handle turn, 'do leave me alone for one moment. I am fagged with the heat, and I want one minute's rest.'

'Oh, Alaric, I see you are ill,' said she. 'For God's sake do not send me from you,' and coming into the room she knelt down beside his chair. 'I know you are suffering, Alaric; do let me do something for you.'

He longed to tell her everything. He panted to share his sorrows with one other bosom; to have one near him to whom he could speak openly of everything, to have one counsellor in his trouble. In that moment he all but resolved to disclose everything to her, but at last he found that he could not do it. Charley was there waiting for his dinner; and were he now to tell his secret to his wife, neither of them, neither he nor she, would be able to act the host or hostess. If done at all, it could not at any rate be done at the present moment.

'I am better now,' said he, giving a long and deep sigh; and then he threw his arms round his wife and passionately embraced her. 'My own angel, my best, best love, how much too good or much too noble you are for such a husband as I am!'

'I wish I could be good enough for you,' she replied, as she began to arrange his things for dressing. 'You are so tired, dearest; wash your hands and come down—don't trouble yourself to dress this evening; unless, indeed, you are going out again.'

'Gertrude,' said he, 'if there be a soul on earth that has not in it a spark of what is good or generous, it is the soul of Undy Scott;' and so saying he began the operations of his toilet.

Now Gertrude had never liked Undy Scott; she had attributed to him whatever faults her husband might have as a husband; and at the present moment she was not inclined to fight for any of the Scott family.

'He is a very worldly man, I think,' said she.

'Worldly!—no—but hellish,' said Alaric; 'hellish, and damnable, and fiendish.'

'Oh, Alaric, what has he done?'

'Never mind; I cannot tell you; he has done nothing. It is not that he has done anything, or can do anything to me—but his heart—but never mind—I wish—I wish I had never seen him.'

'Alaric, if it be about money tell me the worst, and I'll bear it without a murmur. As long as you are well I care for nothing else—have you given up your place?'

'No, dearest, no; I can keep my place. It is nothing about that. I have lost no money; I have rather made money. It is the ingratitude of that man which almost kills me. But come, dearest, we will go down to Charley. And Gertrude, mind this, be quite civil to Mrs. Val at present. We will break from the whole set before long; but in the meantime I would have you be very civil to Mrs. Val.'

And so they went down to dinner, and Alaric, after taking a glass of wine, played his part almost as though he had no weight upon his soul. After dinner he drank freely, and as he drank his courage rose. 'Why should I tell her?' he said to himself as he went to bed. 'The chances are that all will yet go well.'



CHAPTER XXXV

MRS. VAL'S NEW CARRIAGE

On the next morning Alaric went to his office without speaking further as to the trouble on his mind, and endeavoured to comfort himself as best he might as he walked down to his office. Then he had also to decide whether it would better suit his purpose to sell out at once and pay up every shilling that he could, or whether he would hold on, and hope that Undy's predictions would be fulfilled, and that the bridge shares would go on rising till they would sell for all that was required of him.

Unfortunate man! what would he have given now to change his position for Norman's single clerkship, or even for Charley's comparative poverty!

Gertrude stayed within all day; but not all day in solitude. About four in the afternoon the Hon. Mrs. Val called, and with her came her daughter Clem, now Madame Jaquetanape, and the two Misses Neverbend. M. Jaquetanape had since his marriage made himself very agreeable to his honourable mother-in-law, so much so that he now occupied the place in her good graces which Undy had formerly filled, and which after Undy's reign had fallen to Alaric's lot. Mrs. Val liked to have about her some confidential gentleman; and as she never thought of placing her confidence in her husband, she was prone to select first one man and then another as her taste and interest dictated. Immediately after their marriage, Victoire and Clem had consented to join housekeeping with their parent. Nothing could be more pleasant than this; their income was unembarrassed, and Mrs. Val, for the first time in her life, was able to set up her carriage. Among the effects arising from this cause, the female Neverbends, who had lately been worshippers of Gertrude, veered round in their idolatry, and paid their vows before Mrs. Val's new yellow panels. In this new carriage now came the four ladies to pay a morning visit to Mrs. Tudor. It was wonderful to see into how small dimensions the Misses Neverbend had contrived to pack, not themselves, but their crinoline.

As has before been hinted, Gertrude did not love Mrs. Val; nor did she love Clem the danseuse; nor did she specially love the Misses Neverbend. They were all of a class essentially different from that in which she had been brought up; and, moreover, Mrs. Val was not content to allow Gertrude into her set without ruling over her, or at any rate patronizing her. Gertrude had borne with them all for her husband's sake; and was contented to do so yet for a while longer, but she thought in her heart that she would be able to draw some consolation from her husband's misfortune if it should be the means of freeing her from Mrs. Val.

'Oh, my dear,' said Mrs. Val, throwing herself down into a sofa as though she were exhausted—'what a dreadful journey it is to you up here! How those poor horses will stand it this weather I don't know, but it nearly kills me; it does indeed.' The Tudors, as has been said, lived in one of the quiet streets of Westbournia, not exactly looking into Hyde Park, but very near to it; Mrs. Val, on the other hand, lived in Ebury Street, Pimlico; her house was much inferior to that of the Tudors; it was small, ill built, and afflicted with all the evils which bad drainage and bad ventilation can produce; but then it was reckoned to be within the precincts of Belgravia, and was only five minutes' walk from Buckingham Palace. Mrs. Val, therefore, had fair ground for twitting her dear friend with living so far away from the limits of fashion. 'You really must come down somewhat nearer to the world; indeed you must, my dear,' said the Hon. Mrs. Val.

'We are thinking of moving; but then we are talking of going to St. John's Wood, or Islington,' said Gertrude, wickedly.

'Islington!' said the Honourable Mrs. Val, nearly fainting.

'Is not Islington and St. Giles' the same place?' asked the innocent Clem, with some malice, however, to counterbalance her innocence.

'O no!' said Lactimel. 'St Giles' is where the poor wretched starving Irish dwell. Their utter misery in the middle of this rich metropolis is a crying disgrace to the Prime Minister.' Poor Badger, how much he has to bear! 'Only think,' continued Lactimel, with a soft pathetic drawl, 'they have none to feed them, none to clothe them, none to do for them!'

'It is a great question,' said Ugolina, 'whether promiscuous charity is a blessing or a curse. It is probably the greatest question of the age. I myself am inclined to think—'

'But, ma,' said Madame Jaquetanape, 'Mrs. Tudor doesn't really mean that she is going to live at St. Giles', does she?'

'I said Islington,' said Gertrude. 'We may go to St. Giles' next, perhaps.' Had she known all, how dreadful would such jokes have been to her!

Mrs. Val saw that she was being quizzed, and, not liking it, changed the conversation. 'Ugolina,' said she, 'might I trouble you to look out of the front window? I hope those stupid men of mine are not letting the horses stand still. They were so warm coming here, that they will be sure to catch cold.' The stupid men, however, were round the corner at the public-house, and Ugolina could only report that as she did not see them she supposed the horses were walking about.

'And so,' said Mrs. Val, 'Mr. Tudor is thinking of resigning his place at the Civil Service Board, and standing for that borough of Lord Gaberlunzie's, in Aberdeenshire?'

'I really cannot say,' said Gertrude; 'but I believe he has some idea of going into Parliament. I rather believe he will continue to hold his place.'

'Oh, that I know to be impossible! I was told that by a gentleman who has been much longer in the service than Mr. Tudor, and who understands all its bearings.' She here alluded to Fidus Neverbend.

'I cannot say,' said Gertrude. 'I do not think Mr. Tudor has quite made up his mind yet.'

'Well, my dear, I'll tell you fairly what I think about it. You know the regard I have for you and Mr. Tudor. He, too, is Clementina's trustee; that is to say, her fortune is partly consigned to his care; so I cannot but have a very great interest about him, and be very anxious that he should do well. Now, my dear, I'll tell you fairly what I think, and what all the world is saying. He ought not to think of Parliament. He ought not, indeed, my dear. I speak for your sake, and your child's. He is not a man of fortune, and he ought not to think of Parliament. He has a very fine situation, and he really should be contented.'

This was intolerable to Gertrude. She felt that she must put Mrs. Val down, and yet she hardly knew how to do it without being absolutely rude; whereas her husband had specially begged her to be civil to this woman at present. 'Oh,' said she, with a slight smile, 'Mr. Tudor will be able to take care of himself; you will find, I hope, that there is no cause for uneasiness.'

'Well, I hope not, I am sure I hope not,' said Mrs. Val, looking very grave. 'But I tell you fairly that the confidence which we all have in your husband will be much shaken if he does anything rash. He should think of this, you know. He has no private fortune to back him; we must remember that.'

Gertrude became very red in the face; but she would not trust herself to answer Mrs. Val at the spur of the moment.

'It makes such a difference, when one has got no private fortune,' said Madame Jaquetanape, the heiress. 'Does it not, Lactimel?'

'Oh, indeed it does,' said Lactimel. 'I wish every one had a private fortune; it would be so nice, wouldn't it?'

'There would be very little poetry in the world if you were to banish poverty,' said Ugolina. 'Poverty may be called the parent of poetry. Look at Milton, how poor he was; and Homer, he begged his bread.'

'But Lord Byron was not a beggar,' said Clem, contemptuously.

'I do hope Mr. Tudor will think of what he is doing,' continued Mrs. Val. 'It is certainly most good-natured and most disinterested of my dear father-in-law, Lord Gaberlunzie, to place his borough at Mr. Tudor's disposal. It is just like him, dear good old nobleman. But, my dear, it will be a thousand pities if Mr. Tudor should be led on by his lordship's kindness to bring about his own ruin.'

Mrs. Val had once in her life seen his good-natured lordship. Soon after her marriage she had insisted on Captain Val taking her down to the family mansion. She stayed there one night, and then left it, and since that had shown no further desire to visit Cauldkail Castle. She did not the less delight to talk about her dear good father-in-law, the lord. Why should she give his son Val board and lodging, but that she might be enabled to do so? She was not the woman to buy an article, and not make of it all the use of which it might be capable.

'Pray do not concern yourself,' said Gertrude. 'I can assure you Mr. Tudor will manage very well for himself—but should any misfortune happen to him he will not, you may be certain, attribute it to Lord Gaberlunzie.'

'I am told that Sir Gregory is most opposed to it,' continued Mrs. Val. 'I heard that from Mr. Neverbend, who is altogether in Sir Gregory's confidence—did not you, my dears?' and she turned round to the sisters of Fidus for confirmation.

'I heard my brother say that as Mr. Tudor's office is not parliamentary but permanent, and as he has to attend from ten till four——'

'Alaric has not to attend from ten till four,' said Gertrude, who could not endure the idea that her husband should be ranked with common clerks, like Fidus Neverbend.

'Oh, I didn't know,' said Lactimel, meekly. 'Perhaps Fidus only meant that as it is one of those offices where the people have something to do, the commissioners couldn't be in their offices and in Parliament at the same time.'

'I did understand,' said Ugolina, 'that Sir Gregory Hardlines had put his veto upon it; but I must confess that it is a subject which I have not sufficiently studied to enable me——'

'It's L1,200 a year, isn't it?' asked the bride.

'Twelve hundred pounds a year,' said her mother—'a very serious consideration when there is no private fortune to back it, on either side. Now if it were Victoire——'

'He couldn't sit in Parliament, ma, because he's an alien—only for that I shouldn't think of his doing anything else.'

'Perhaps that may be altered before long,' said Lactimel, graciously.

'If Jews are to be admitted,' said Ugolina, 'who certainly belong to an alien nation; a nation expressly set apart and separated from all people—a peculiar nation distinct from all others, I for one cannot discern——'

What Ugolina could or could not discern about the Jews was communicated perhaps to Madame Jaquetanape or to Lactimel, but not to Gertrude or to Mrs. Val; for the latter, taking Gertrude apart into a corner as it were of the sofa, began confidentially to repeat to her her fears about her husband.

'I see, my dear,' said she, 'that you don't like my speaking about it.'

'Upon my word,' said Gertrude, 'I am very indifferent about it. But would it not be better if you said what you have to say to my husband?'

'I intend to do so. I intend to do that also. But I know that a wife ought to have influence over her husband, and I believe that you have influence over yours.'

'Not the least,' said Gertrude, who was determined to contradict Mrs. Val in everything.

'I am sorry to hear it,' said Mrs. Val, who among all her excellent acquirements, did not possess that specially excellent one of understanding repartee. 'I am very sorry to hear it, and I shall certainly speak to him the more seriously on that account. I think I have some influence over him; at any rate I ought to have.'

'I dare say you have,' said Gertrude; 'Alaric always says that no experience is worth anything that is not obtained by years.'

Mrs. Val at least understood this, and continued her lecture with some additional severity. 'Well, my dear, I am glad he has so much wisdom. But what I was going to say is this: you know how much we have at stake with Mr. Tudor—what a very large sum of Clementina's money lies in his hands. Now I really should not have consented to the arrangement had I thought it possible that Mr. Tudor would have given up his income with the idea of going into Parliament. It wouldn't have been right or prudent of me to do so. I have the greatest opinion of your husband's talents and judgement, or I should not of course have entrusted him with the management of Clementina's fortune; but I really shall think it right to make some change if this project of his goes on.'

'Why, what is it you suspect?' said Gertrude. 'Do you think that Mr. Tudor intends to use your daughter's income if he loses a portion of his own? I never heard such a thing in my life.'

'Hush! my dear—gently—I would not for worlds let Clementina hear a word of this; it might disturb her young happiness. She is so charmed with her husband; her married life is so fortunate; Victoire is so—so—so everything that we all wish, that I would not for the world breathe in her hearing a shadow of a suspicion.'

'Good gracious! Mrs. Scott, what do you mean? Suspicion!—what suspicion? Do you suspect my husband of robbing you?' Oh, Gertrude; poor Gertrude! she was doomed to know it all before long.

'Oh dear, no,' said Mrs. Val; 'nothing of the kind, I assure you. Of course we suspect nothing of the sort. But one does like to have one's money in safe hands. Of course Mr. Tudor wouldn't have been chosen as trustee if he hadn't had a good income of his own; and look here, my dear,'—and Mrs. Val whispered very confidentially, —'Mr. Tudor we all know is greatly concerned in this bridge that the committee is sitting about; and he and my brother-in-law, Undecimus, are always dealing in shares. Gentlemen do, I know; and therefore I don't say that there is anything against it. But considering all, I hope Mr. Tudor won't take it ill if we propose to change our trustee.'

'I am very certain he will not,' said Gertrude. 'It is a laborious business, and he will be glad enough to be rid of it. When he was asked to accept it, he thought it would be ill- natured to refuse; I am certain, however, he will be very glad to give up the work to any other person who may be appointed. I will be sure to tell him this evening what you have said.'

'You need not trouble yourself to do that,' said Mrs. Val. 'I shall see him myself before long.'

'It will be no trouble,' said Gertrude, very indignantly, for she was very angry, and had, as she thought, great cause for anger. 'I shall certainly think it my duty to do so after what has passed. Of course you will now take steps to relieve him as soon as possible.'

'You have taken me up a great deal too quick, my dear,' said Mrs. Val. 'I did not intend——'

'Oh—one can't be too quick on such a matter as this,' said Gertrude. 'When confidence is once lost between two persons it is better that the connexion which has grown out of confidence should be put an end to as soon as possible.'

'Lost confidence! I said nothing about lost confidence!'

'Alaric will so understand it, I am quite sure; at any rate I will tell him what you have said. Suspicion indeed! who has dared to suspect him of anything not honest or upright?'

Gertrude's eyes flashed with anger as she vindicated her absent lord. Mrs. Val had been speaking with bated breath, so that no one had heard her but she to whom she was speaking; but Gertrude had been unable so to confine her answers, and as she made her last reply Madame Jaquetanape and the Misses Neverbend were all ears.

'Ha, ha, ha!' laughed Mrs. Val. 'Upon my word, my dear, it is amusing to hear you take it up. However, I assure you I meant nothing but what was kind and friendly. Come, Clementina, we have been sitting here a most unconscionable time. Will you allow me, my dear, to ring for my carriage?'

'Mamma,' said Clem, 'have you asked Mrs. Tudor to our little dance?'

'No, my dear; I have left that for you to do. It's your party, you know—but I sincerely hope Mrs. Tudor will come.'

'Oh yes,' said Clementina, the tongue of whose eloquence was now loosened. 'You must come, Mrs. Tudor; indeed you must. It will be so charming; just a few nice people, you know, and nothing more.'

'Thank you,' said Gertrude; 'but I never dance now.' She had inwardly resolved that nothing should ever induce her again to enter Mrs. Val's house.

'Oh, but you must come,' said Clementina. 'It will be so charming. We only mean to dance one kind of dance—that new thing they have just brought over from Spain—the Contrabandista. It is a polka step, only very quick, and you take every other turn by yourself; so you have to take your partner up and let him go as quick as possible. You don't know how charming it is, and it will be all the rage. We are to have the music out in the street, just as they have in Spain.'

'It would be much too difficult for me,' said Gertrude.

'It is difficult,' said the enthusiastic Clem; 'but Victoire gives us lessons in it everyday from twelve to two—doesn't he, Ugolina?'

'I'm afraid I shouldn't have time to go to school,' said Gertrude.

'Oh, it doesn't take much time—six or seven or eight lessons will do it pretty well. I have almost learnt it already, and Ugolina is coming on very fast. Lactimel is not quite so perfect. She has learnt the step, but she cannot bring herself to let Victoire go quick enough. Do come, and bring Mr. Tudor with you.'

'As he has not to attend from ten till four, he could come and take lessons too,' said Lactimel, who, now that she was no longer a hanger-on of Gertrude's, could afford to have her little revenge.

'That would be delightful,' said Clem. 'Mr. Charles Tudor does come in sometimes at twelve o'clock, and I think he does it almost as well as Victoire.'

Gertrude, however, would go neither to the rehearsals nor to the finished performance; and as Mrs. Val's men had by this time been induced to leave the beershop, the whole party went away, leaving Gertrude to her meditations.



CHAPTER XXXVI

TICKLISH STOCK

Alaric returned from his office worn and almost as wretched as he had been on the day before. He had spent a miserable day. In the morning Sir Gregory had asked him whether he had finally made up his mind to address the electors of Strathbogy. 'No, not finally,' said Alaric, 'but I think I shall do so.'

'Then I must tell you, Tudor,' said Sir Gregory, speaking more in sorrow than in anger, 'that you will not have my countenance. I cannot but think also that you are behaving with ingratitude.' Alaric prepared to make some petulant answer, but Sir Gregory, in the meantime, left the room.

Every one was falling away from him. He felt inclined to rush after Sir Gregory, and promise to be guided in this matter solely by him, but his pride prevented him: though he was no longer sanguine and confident as he had been a week ago, still his ambition was high. 'Those who play brag must brag it out, or they will lose their money.' This had been said by Undy; but it was not the less true on that account. Alaric felt that he was playing brag, and that his only game was to brag it out.

He walked home slowly through the Parks. His office and house were so circumstanced that, though they were some two miles distant, he could walk from one to the other almost without taking his feet off the grass. This had been the cause of great enjoyment to him; but now he sauntered on with his hands behind his back, staring straight before him, with fixed eyes, going by his accustomed route, but never thinking for a moment where he was. The tune was gone when he could watch the gambols of children, smile at the courtships of nursery-maids, watch the changes in the dark foliage of the trees, and bend from his direct path hither and thither to catch the effects of distant buildings, and make for his eye half-rural landscapes in the middle of the metropolis. No landscapes had beauty for him now; the gambols even of his own baby were unattractive to him; leaves might bud forth and nourish and fall without his notice. How went the share-market? that was the only question that had an interest for him. The dallyings of Capel Court were the only courtships that he now cared to watch.

And with what a terribly eager eye had he now to watch them! If his shares went up quickly, at once, with an unprecedented success, he might possibly be saved. That was all. But if they did not—! Such was the phase of life under which at the present moment it behoved him to exist.

And then, when he reached his home, how was he welcomed? With all the fond love which a loving wife can show; so much at least was his; but before he had felt the sweetness of her caresses, before he had acknowledged how great was the treasure that he possessed, forth from her eager lips had come the whole tale of Mrs. Val's impertinence.