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This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place.
Title:  Caroline
Author: Black, Clementina, 1854-1922
Publisher: John Murray.
Place published: London
Date: 1908
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 Front cover for Black's Caroline CarolineAdvert included in the front of Black's Caroline Caroline By CLEMENTINA BLACKLONDON:JOHN MURRAY,ALBERMARLE STREET, W.1908CAROLINE
PROLOGUEACROSS the monotonous years of Caroline Dalyngrange's well regulated childhood, one incident flashed like a meteor, leaving a trail of intense remembrance and marking for ever a day in the year 1774, when she was between ten and eleven years old. Returning home with her maid through the twilight of a September evening, she found herself unexpectedly in the midst of a concourse of people, tasted a bitter whiff of smoke, and all at once beheld flakes of flame floating up and down the roof of Farmer Nye's outhouse. Below that roof a door was standing open, bursts of smoke issued from it, paused, and then came rolling forth again. Between the bursts she suddenly became aware of a horse kicking and plunging within, and of a man in the doorway calling to it in vain.Some voice near at hand said: "Farmer Nye's mare. They be so tarrified of fire; y' can't never get 'em to come out."Horror seized the child by the heart. Was the mare going to be burnt to death there, before their eyes? Everybody seemed suddenly to be silent, standing at gaze. A black sickness of despair grew upon Caroline. It seemed to her that they stood gazing there for a very long time.All in a flash the stagnant hopelessness broke up. A horse and man—Caroline thought him a man—came whirling down into the crowd; in an instant the rider was on his feet and was calling aloud for "a coat, a scarf, something dark."Caroline snatched from her shoulders and thrust into his impatient hands her black silk tippet. The familiar frilled ends floated behind him as he sprang into the smoke.A buzz of voices rose and fell. Caroline held her breath. The lad and the mare came out together, and Caroline's tippet, twisted into a crumpled bandage, was bound across the animal's eyes. There was a roar of huzzas, a clapping of hands, and again the mare began to dance to and fro in terror. Her conductor held her firm, spoke to her soothingly; for an instant the pair were standing strongly illuminated in the increasing glow of the fire.A name began to pass from one to another of the bystanders: "Young Mr. Gilbert Hardy, the Admiral's nephew.""Did none of you fools know that you must blindfold a horse to lead it out of a fire?" the lad cried, and a gay note of boyish triumph rang in the arrogant words.With them, in Caroline's memory, the coherence of the scene ended. Some one must have taken the rescued beast, some one must have helped the rescuer to his own, for she retained a single and separated image of the rider cantering off and waving his three-cocked hat with a cry of: "Good-night! "Then, in another detached picture, she beheld the end of the conflagration, the sudden darkening of the landscape, and the great gap, like the loss of a tooth, where the outhouse had been.She remembered, too, how she had walked home without a tippet, while that creased and bedraggled garment hung from the hand of a reproachful maid, and how she had been presented in the character of a culprit to Mrs. Duncombe, her governess, who, to finish the surprises of that wonderful evening, had commended her conduct."Miss Dalyngrange," declared the preceptress, " behaved as a young lady should. I am glad, my dear, to find that you possess what is becoming to every woman of family, —the admirable quality of promptitude in an emergency."The little Caroline closed her eyes that night upon a world singularly enlarged, in which the sanctity of silk tippets had become subordinate, and in which valour had taken upon itself the form of a keen-eyed lad and the name of Gilbert Hardy.IHOATHAM, the home of Caroline Dalyngrange, stood just far enough from the Sussex coast to be out of sight of the sea, but near enough to be refreshed by its breezes. The surrounding country was hilly, thickly wooded, thinly peopled, and much pervaded by the practice of smuggling. Here Caroline grew up, the heiress of many farms and fields and woodlands. From time to time came aunts and cousins upon long visits; her guardian, Mr. Shirley, appeared at intervals intermittent and incalculable as those of a comet; the steady luminary of daily life was her governess, Mrs. Duncombe, a kind, calm woman, who worshipped the goddess Propriety and had high ideals of the behaviour required in young ladies of property.To the house of Hoatham, one inclement Saturday in the month of March, 1783, came Mr. Shirley, bringing with him Miss Burney's new novel in five duodecimo volumes, and accounts of the festivities made in London on the return of General Elliot and his men from the lately raised siege of Gibraltar."'Tis a pity," remarked Mr. Shirley, as he sat with the ladies at their afternoon dinner, "that your good neighbour, Admiral Hardy, should not have lived to see it. I saw, as I came through the village, that the house is still shut up.""Mrs. King tells me," said Mrs. Duncombe, "that the executors can do nothing until they can communicate with Captain Hardy.""And he, I suppose, has been ignorant all these months of his uncle's death. No doubt he will now return and take possession. It is scarce likely, indeed, that a young fellow who has seen service with Burgoyne and with Elliot will be content to settle down at something-and-twenty in Old Burling; but Old Burling may be proud, all the same, to have one of the heroes of Gibraltar belong to it."He was filling his glass as he spoke, and, raising it, he added: "General Elliot, ladies, and the heroes of Gibraltar."The ladies, smiling, set their glasses to their lips; but the name in Caroline's thoughts was other than that of the gallant commander who beams immortal from the canvas of Reynolds, with the emblematic key of Gibraltar in his stout right hand.Memory brought up before her a picture out of the past—the glow of fire, the trampling horse, the intent lad—and imagination shaped from it a blurred but radiant present. Into what had years and battles moulded that keen-eyed lad? Into something more heroic, Caroline was willing to believe, than the young Attaways of Stanbury, or Mr. Broughton of Pallavere.Her attention, returning from this excursion, found her elders busy with the news of the country side."And so old Lord Pevensey is gone at last," Mr. Shirley was saying. Mrs. Duncombe murmured a becomingly grave assent."And his heir, too, is abroad. It will be a change indeed for the neighbourhood to have a young master and gaiety and company at High Broom Castle.""I hope," said Mrs. Duncombe, " that his young lordship will endeavour to abate the running of contraband goods, which has been ten times worse ever since we lost Admiral Hardy. The gentlemen hereabouts are sadly remiss, and all the young men in the villages are being drawn into unlawful doings and idleness and vagabond ways.""You are right, ma'am. There is great need of some leading man with a strong hand. Squire Attaway is too easy and too much taken up by family cares; and as for Mr. Broughton——"He shook his head and left the sentence significantly unfinished. Few persons in and about Burling doubted the secret participation of Mr. Broughton—a young man unquestionably violent and wrong-headed—in smuggling enterprises."Ay," Mr. Shirley continued pensively, " the Admiral, with his half a dozen acres, was of more importance to the country than the Earl of Pevensey, with all his lands and houses and ancient titles. Thus we see, my dear madam, that the man, after all, matters more than wealth and rank."The good gentleman sipped his wine with a modest air and seemed to reflect that plain James Shirley might perhaps be as valuable a citizen as any member of the Peerage."And now," he added, "these two lads come on the stage to play their parts—one from the embassy at Vienna, and one from the walls of Gibraltar—and we onlookers sit, like the audience in the side boxes, to see how they acquit themselves."Here he caught the dark eye of his ward, remembered that she too had her drama still before her, and changed the subject.After dinner, her elders being together in the library, busied with household accounts, Caroline picked up the first volume of Cecilia and promised herself an hour of peaceful reading.But as she crossed the passage, she heard from behind the baize door of access to the kitchens, which door was propped open for convenience of clearing the table, a sound of muffled weeping. She passed swiftly through. The sound came from the neighbourhood of the back-door, and from the same quarter issued a stream of chill air. Caroline advanced upon the back-door and threw it open. Two figures stood revealed: a young man with a hanging head, a young woman sobbing on his shoulder.Both raised their heads, stepped apart, and stared with startled eyes at Miss Dalyngrange."What is the matter, Keziah?" the young lady asked.Keziah, a trim housemaid, stood twisting her apron, mute."What is the matter, Reuben Gambling?" Caroline demanded, with increasing severity.Reuben, in a flash of recollection, snatched off his hat, and growing very red, mumbled something about a falling-out of sweethearts.Indignation hereupon restored to Keziah the power of speech."It is no such thing, miss," she cried. " It is——"Her further words were stifled by the clapping of Reuben's large brown hand over her mouth.The young sovereign of Hoatham had not yet attained the age of patience, nor was she disposed to stand in parley at her own backdoor."Come, both of you, into the morning-room," commanded she, and swept majestically up the passage.The reluctant Reuben, guided by Keziah's resolute grasp, found himself constrained to follow.To the under housemaid, who daily lighted a fire there, the morning-room was a familiar spot, devoid of terrors, a mere field for brooms and dusters; but to Reuben it was a haunt of mysterious splendours, wherein he felt himself mightily abashed and out of place. He offered no further interruption to Keziah's voluble explanation."It is the running of goods, miss: he says he darsen't keep out of it; and father says he'll have no runner marry a child of hisn; and he did promise me, miss, to keep shut of it, and him in good work, too. And now he comes and tells me he's going back to it.""Not o' my good will," came in a shamefaced growl from Reuben.Caroline's eyes began to sparkle indignantly."And who can force you to do wrong against your own will? " she demanded, with some scorn."Life's sweet," submitted Reuben grudgingly."And is not honesty sweet, too, and the respect of your neighbours? I thought better of you, Reuben Gambling."Reluctantly the name of Mr. Broughton dropped from the young man's lips."Mr. Broughton!" cried Caroline. "Does Mr. Broughton dare to threaten a tenant of mine? ""It's his gang, miss," Keziah interposed, " and they do tell Reuben that there's never been one give 'em up but what he come to harm—and that's true, miss. It ben't Mr. Broughton hisself talks to the likes of Reuben, but we know well enough he always stands by his own men, do what they will. As long as the Admiral was alive, they was afeared: he knew 'em, the Admiral did. But now they have told Reuben he've got to go and help 'em this very evening, and if he don't——"She broke into tears again."When and where did they bid you meet them, Reuben?""No, miss; I promised not to give the office against them.""Well, and that is right, too," said Caroline, and fell to meditation upon the problem.After a moment she looked up eagerly and said: " But you would not feel bound by that if they did you any harm?""No, miss.""Then you shall write down the names of the men who threatened you, and what they said, and you shall seal the paper and give it to me; and I will ask Dr. King to see Mr. Broughton to-morrow after church and to tell him that we have that paper, and that if any ill happens to you we will never rest till those men are punished. That will protect you, I think; and as for to-night, the gardener and his boy shall go down-and sit up with you in your cottage if you choose."That offer, however, was declined."I am not afeared for to-night, miss. They have other business to see after, to-night.""And you will not join in that business?""No, miss, I won't, and thankful not to be forced to it," Reuben stoutly replied."That is well," said Caroline, and rising set before him, on a writing table, pen and paper, and bade him draw up his statement. The pen being a tool with which Reuben had little skill, the process was slow: and half-past five had struck before its conclusion. Caroline received the paper, dismissed the lovers and sent for her maid to attend her at once to the rectory.The rectory of Old Burling stood fully half a mile away from the house of Hoatham, and the winds that scoured the dry hard avenue seemed to sweep away every particle of warmth. The twigs shook and rattled, the twilit sky hung low, and sudden gusts sang in the borders of the hoods that were drawn over the heads of the two pedestrians. They walked braced hard against the wind, and the wind, malicious in animosity, would now and again unexpectedly subside, whereupon the girls would stumble one against the other like shaken ninepins. To open the mouth for speech was to feel the breath driven violently inward again. Caroline, country-bred and weather-wise, reflected that this turbulence of the gale probably coincided with high tide, and that if so there could be no landing of smuggled goods till the tide had run out and had begun to turn again—about one o'clock. But more probably the plunder was ashore already and was to be carried up to-night by the many hollow roads that run among the Sussex hills. Nursing thoughts of this kind and clutching Reuben's paper close under her cloak, she trudged forward, silent, with the silent Dorcas at her elbow.The village street was sheltered, the rectory agreeably warm; with a sigh of relief the maid passed into the kitchen and the mistress into the parlour. Mrs. King's tea-table was spread, a silver tea-kettle sang over a red-hot heater in its midst; reflections from the firelight danced rosily upon the sides of the teacups, and Mrs. King, wrapped in a flowered shawl, was in the act of measuring tea from her Tunbridge-ware box. Her husband stood on one side of the hearthrug, and on the other, seated in a comfortable arm-chair, was no less a person than Mr. Broughton himself.Miss Dalyngrange paused a moment in the doorway—a charming apparition, bright-eyed under her hood, her young severity softened a little by the wind-tossed locks on her forehead.Warm greetings met her from husband and wife; Mr. Broughton rising eagerly, favoured her with an ardent gaze.She drew a long breath and advanced into the room."I came," said she, " to see Dr. King, on behalf of one of my tenants; but since you are concerned in the matter, Mr. Broughton, and since I find you here, it will be best that I should speak to you."To fulfil any wish of Miss Dalyngrange's would be, declared Mr. Broughton, his highest pleasure.Caroline, to whom this gentleman's manner was always an offence, replied coldly that there was no question of any wish on her part."My tenant has been foolish enough to engage, some time since, in unlawful pursuits, but has now come to a better mind and is living honestly. Some of his former companions are attempting to compel him to return to his evil courses, and have dared not only to threaten him but also to use your name, Mr. Broughton, in support of their threats.""And do you, Miss Dalyngrange, credit this ridiculous tale that the fellow tells you?""He has told me nothing. I have heard of the matter from another quarter. Nor will he consent to denounce any person. But I have obtained from him, under seal, a statement of the threats made, and the names of those who have made them; and if any harm comes to my tenant, I will make public that paper, and never rest until those men are punished; and so you may tell your tenants, Mr. Broughton, who make bold to use your name in support of their own wickedness. This was the message that I was coming to ask Dr. King to give you.""'Tis well," said Mr. Broughton, looking very red and angry, "that such a message should come from a woman or a parson. It would go ill with the man that should dare deliver it."Caroline opened wide eyes of ostentatiously innocent surprise."Indeed, Mr. Broughton," said she, "I thought I was doing you a service in telling you how your name had been misused."And then, her errand being done, she turned to depart.Mr. Broughton would have desired to walk home with her; but Dr. King, stifling a sigh for his uncompleted sermon, took this office upon himself, and received from her, as they walked, Reuben's clumsily folded paper, with its great sprawling splotch of red wax."I fear, my dear, you have made an enemy to-night," said the Doctor."I prefer to have Mr. Broughton my enemy," said Caroline, throwing up her head.Just before they reached the gates of Hoatham a great coach came bowling along the road, a couple of servants riding behind and leading a third horse. The hangings and liveries were dark. In the lighted interior sat two gentlemen. Caroline caught a glimpse of the nearer face; a pair of keen blue eyes looked eagerly into her own, illumined in the passing flash, then the carriage had gone by and the twilight was left suddenly much darker.Drops of rain began to fall, and the wind flagged."Surely," said the Doctor, as they paused to part at the gate, "that was the coach from High Broom Castle."IIMEANWHILE Caroline's elders, in the library at Hoatham, were discussing her future.Mrs. Duncombe had reminded the guardian that his ward was now turned nineteen, and that it was over three years since she had made any stay in London.Mr. Shirley pettishly demanded what good London could do to any girl, and assured Mrs. Duncombe that if she could know the bold-faced chits whom he saw parading it in the families of some of his friends she would hanker after no such life for her pupil.The lady, gently persistent, urged that Miss Dalyngrange's mode of life was developing in her an independence of spirit very unlikely to promote a happy marriage."She moves, moreover," added the duenna, "in a very narrow circle, and drawing her notions chiefly from books, may form expectations of the world a little too high for her happiness. She seems likely, for lack of experience, to be dissatisfied with—with very worthy gentlemen, in short, such as those whose proposals she has refused already.""Well, well, I will talk to her," said Mr. Shirley, rather reluctantly; and tea being at this point announced, he handed the lady into the drawing-room, where they looked round in vain for Caroline."Miss Dalyngrange, ma'am," said the footman at the door, "begs that you will not wait for her. She is gone down to the rectory with Dorcas, and bade me say that she would be back very quickly."Mrs. Duncombe looked at her companion. 'What did I tell you?' said her glance."This is, indeed, somewhat unceremonious behaviour," said the guardian, in tones of disapprobation.Two or three minutes later Caroline came in, her colour heightened by the keen air and her breath quickened by rapid walking.She made a pretty apology, and said that she had been unwilling to disturb them in their business talk. But she volunteered, as Mr. Shirley, at a later time remembered to remark, no explanation of her errand; and Mrs. Duncombe, who had grown apprehensive of stretching her authority, was careful to ask for none.After tea, the guardian and ward being left alone together for half an hour, Mr. Shirley, seated comfortably beside the excellent wood fire, began his expostulations."What tales," said he, "are these I hear, of your rejecting all your admirers?""No new ones, sir, I think, since I saw you last.""Mr. Broughton has been applying to me and desiring me to use my authority with you. I gather that his applications to yourself have scarce received encouragement.""I told him, sir, the last time, that I would rather be dead than his wife."A dry smile puckered Mr. Shirley's shaven cheek."He appears to be a mighty persevering gentleman.—Well, child, in the matter of Mr. Broughton, I am much of your mind. He is too violent of temper for a good husband—and there are other things. But I have another suitor for you. Young Mr. Russell, it appears, was greatly struck with you at Lady Pierpoint's ball, and Sir Francis, his father, has been making very handsome proposals to me. The son is a young fellow of good character and elegant manners. He is an only son, and, as you know, he is a personable man. Have you anything to object against Mr. Russell?""Nothing, sir; except that I have no mind to him as a husband.""That is a strange answer to be returned to so advantageous a proposal. Tell me, Caroline, is there any other man of whom you would be more willing to think in that character?"A meditative shadow came across Caroline's candid eyes. "I do not know that there is," she answered slowly.Then, remarking the extreme perturbation of her guardian's expression, she hastened to reassure him."Nay, my dear sir," said she, with a smile, "you take me too seriously. But one would be sorry, you know, to choose hastily, and then to find that with a little patience one might have done better!"Her words suggested to Mr. Shirley a most agreeable suspicion. Something closely akin to gratification began to brighten his countenance."Well, child," said he indulgently, "there is no vast hurry in the matter. Remember that your birth and your fortune entitle you to the best match that the county"—he recollected himself—"or the kingdom can afford, and do not throw yourself away."The young lady gave no spoken reply; but the proud lifting of her lip was encouraging.At supper time, Mr. Shirley took occasion to inquire when the arrival of the young Lord Pevensey was to be looked for.Mrs. Duncombe understood that Lady Maria was expecting her nephew within a fortnight at latest."I hear good accounts of the young man," Mr. Shirley observed; "and certainly it was pretty behaviour not to throw up his "appointment immediately upon his grandfather's death. The government will, no doubt, remember it of him. That young nobleman may have, if he pleases, a great future before him. I shall hope for the honour of becoming acquainted with his lordship very shortly."Thus did the unconscious diplomatist reveal to the two ladies, his hearers, his hopes for the future of his ward, and set Caroline wondering whether those eyes that had looked at her out of the High Broom carriage might by any chance belong to its owner.Before church time next morning it became known throughout Old Burling, New Burling, Storthing and Rivelsfield that the new Lord Pevensey had come home the night before; and the whole congregation of Old Burling was on tiptoe with curiosity.Even at Hoatham his lordship was the subject of conversation between the two ladies as they stood ready for church by the hall fire."'Tis to be hoped," said Caroline, ''that he will not be too much fatigued to appear.""Let us rather hope, my dear, that he has been taught the duty of public attendance, and will not keep up a private chapel, a practice which has always seemed to me to savour of the Romish."The good lady, as she spoke, surveyed her pupil with approving eyes and perhaps reflected that if the young peer remained at home he would be justly punished by the loss of so agreeable a picture. To have uttered any observation of the kind would, however, have appeared to her a gross breach of the proprieties, and all she said was: "I trust Sayers will not have put damp wood into the stove this week. The crackling last Sunday was really most disturbing, and I should not like Mr. Shirley to think that we permit such things.""It is his revenge upon us," said Caroline, "for desiring a fire in March; and, indeed, this morning, one begins to feel the spring."The weather, that important factor in the comfort of English life, had in fact undergone an agreeable change. From the window of the carriage Caroline, attentive to such details, noted a new film of green upon the hedgerows and new stars of blossom twinkling from bare twigs of blackthorn. Everywhere the birds were piping and chattering; young lambs were in the meadows; the scudding showers of the night had left in the air a smell of earth and dampness and spring. At Admiral Hardy's house in the village the shutters were standing open: the rectory maids, she supposed, were taking advantage of a warm morning, even though a Sunday, to air the empty dwelling.The concourse of lingerers at the churchyard gate was more numerous than usual, but among them, as Caroline perceived with relief, Mr. Broughton was not included.With smiles and greetings this way and that, the trio from Hoatham advanced up the flagged walk, passed into the shadow of the porch and were presently engulfed in the family pew, a square apartment of which the wooden walls screened persons within alike from seeing and from being seen.Not until she was standing to sing the psalms did Caroline permit herself a glance at the pew which was the freehold inheritance of successive Earls of Pevensey. There, where, for so long, only the elderly countenance of the Lady Maria had been visible above the partition, rose now a precisely barbered head, slender black shoulders, the gleam of a diamond. The face of the new earl was a little long, a little pale, a little hollowed under the cheek-bone; the features straight and regular, the dark eyes intelligent—altogether a highly presentable young nobleman; but assuredly not the man whom Caroline had seen last night. Her gaze went back to her book, and behind the words of her singing her thoughts began unconsciously to adjust themselves to this new image.Presently, amid the consonance of familiar voices, she became aware of one that was not familiar and that yet issued from a quarter other than the Castle pew. She glanced across the aisle. The stranger of last night was standing in the place that had been Admiral Hardy's; she met a gaze blue and keen as the Admiral's own, and knew that this must be Gilbert Hardy, home from Gibraltar.Again her eyes returned to the page before her, but her attention refused to be held. She heard no notes but those of the one unwonted voice, and before the close of the psalms she, who had always scorned the unmannerliness of staring about in church, found herself deliberately looking again.She now remarked that Captain Hardy was, in Mr. Shirley's phrase, 'a personable man'; she also remarked that the heats and hardships of Gibraltar had left him lean and brown. But these points were subsidiary: her impression at this second view, as at the first, was less of looks than of personality,—of alertness, keenness, vitality, of action and the open air. She subsided into her pew, carrying with her a renewed conviction of Hardy's heroism; and Lord Pevensey, with his inscrutable young diplomatist's face, became at once a secondary personage.The good Dr. King began in due course the delivery of that sermon the composition of which had been so sadly interrupted, and which, indeed, had not been concluded until the small hours of Sunday morning. The long, well-balanced periods, after the manner of Dr. Johnson, rolled out as usual over the heads of his rustic congregation; the sonorous tones went billowing away among the open rafters, and many a head nodded gently in the shelter of a high pew.But presently came an unexpected note.The Doctor turned his last leaf; his hearers drew in their feet and prepared to rise. But the preacher, leaning both hands on the desk of the pulpit, went on without book."My friends, within these last twenty-four hours there have been unlawful doings around us: neighbours of ours—but not, I am thankful to say, any man of this parish—have been detected in the very act of defrauding his Majesty's revenue and are lying at this minute in Camchester gaol to answer for their misdoing. Too many of us are apt to think lightly of this crime, but——"He proceeded to expound the steps by which smuggling developed into theft and violence and battle and manslaughter, and bade his congregation, before departing, unite in a thanksgiving for having escaped a temptation by which others had been ensnared.To this unlooked-for peroration every person in the church had listened open-eyed; a faint buzz of emotion ran from seat to seat; Reuben Gambling dropped his face upon his hands, and tears began to roll slowly down the round cheeks of Keziah, seated among the Hoatham servants.The congregation issued into the air a little more slowly and solemnly than usual; among its humbler members in particular, this news cast into the shade even so important an event as the return of Lord Pevensey. Upon that gentleman the eyes of Mr. Shirley were fixed; and he perceived with pleasure that Lady Maria was advancing, with evident intention, towards the ladies of Hoatham. In another instant Lord Pevensey had been presented by his aunt to the young lady who was the best match in the county.His lordship bowed with foreign elegance, and said that he promised himself the honour of waiting on Miss Dalyngrange in the course of the week."My duty in the service-of my country," he added, " has made me so much a stranger to her that I shall be extremely dependent upon the good advice of my neighbours."Such civility demanded, of course, equally civil deprecation, and Mr. Shirley was ready with the appropriate compliment.Dr. King came up with Mrs. King and Captain Hardy.Mrs. Duncombe at once began to inquire of the clergyman about last night's affray."These two gentlemen," said Dr. King, "are the heroes of that affair.""Nay, it is Captain Hardy who is the hero of it," said Lord Pevensey. "I did no more than convey him to the field.""Pray, Gilbert," said the Doctor, "tell the tale to the ladies.""There is very little to tell," Hardy declared. "I met with a couple of revenue officers yesterday at an inn in Camchester, and found that they were in pursuit of a cargo supposed to have been landed between Ovington Gap and West Burling. They seemed ill-acquainted with the country, and I offered them my guidance. Naturally they desired evidence of my identity, and we went out to the innkeeper, who was just attending Lord Pevensey to the door. Hearing my name, his lordship very politely offered me a seat in his coach. We met with the revenue men at the spot appointed, and an ambush was arranged at the foot of Capper's Lane. The runners almost walked into our arms. There was little resistance and I believe no wounds. Three of them made their escape, and six are in gaol.""Captain Hardy omits to mention," said Lord Pevensey, "that the whole plan was his, and that he stepped forward alone into their midst, told them who he was, and begged them not to make their case worse by resistance. There would otherwise probably have been blood shed.""It was an act of Christian courage," said Lady Maria solemnly, and Mrs. Duncombe and Mrs. King made murmurs of admiring assent.Hardy, looking a trifle embarrassed, said lightly that there had been no great occasion for courage; he had been sure that nine men would not attack one who spoke them fair. Then stepping aside, he left the foreground for other members of the congregation.Squire Attaway, Dr. Grantham, and at a respectful distance a wealthy farmer or two, came up to pay their respects to Lord Pevensey, who stood, like a well-disciplined young monarch, smiling, bowing and dispensing polite speeches.The ladies of Hoatham withdrew themselves from the increasingly masculine circle, and Hardy adroitly followed and handed Miss Dalyngrange to her coach.IIIFATE, after having, during twenty-four hours, heaped events with both hands upon a somnolent country side, had left it to relapse into languor.Lord Pevensey and Captain Hardy had gone to Camchester to give testimony before the magistrates. Reuben Gambling, relieved from fear by the arrest of the man who had threatened him, had handed in a notice of banns to the parish clerk, and was pursuing the paths of honesty in monotonous peace.Even Mr. Shirley had returned to town, and the little ripple caused by his presence at Hoatham had ebbed away.Caroline and Mrs. Duncombe were once more living in absolute tranquillity; but light from an immediate future now shone in upon the dulness, and Caroline, for her part, went about the quiet house with a gay face.On the Thursday that followed this eventful Sunday, Miss Dalyngrange had occasion to ride to Rivelsfield, a spot which flattery could not dignify with the name of a town, but which, since it could boast three shops, was considerably more urban than Old Burling.Caroline, in urgent need of certain embroidering thread impossible to be chosen except by herself or Mrs. Duncombe, had gaily ridden five miles under a grey and windy sky, had spent the better part of an hour—the Sussex shop-keeper of a century ago being a person no less leisurely than his descendants—in the completion of three small purchases, and was now returning in some apprehension of finding herself late for the half-past four o'clock dinner. The bridle-paths being extremely muddy, she took the high road, and cantered smartly forward, distancing her elderly servant by a good many yards. Wayfarers were few in that sparsely peopled country. She had met Dr. Grantham nodding along on his old white horse, had exchanged a word or two, a mile nearer home, with Farmer Welfare, cleaning out a ditch on the other side of the hedge, and was now approaching the fork where a secondary road branches off towards Old Burling. Here suddenly appeared a young woman, advancing quickly as if eager to meet her. Caroline beheld with twofold surprise a face that was unknown to her and that was of remarkable beauty.The girl, perceiving Caroline, stopped dead, turned on her heel, and began to walk back slowly, with averted head, in the direction from which she had come. Caroline's curious gaze could discern no more of her face than the curve of a pink cheek and the ripple of bright hair under the border of a hood. The dress of the damsel seemed to betoken a certain modest prosperity. Her long hooded cloak was warm and whole; below it showed the hem of a good stuff skirt; her stockings were white, her buckled shoes neat and stout.Caroline rode on, recalling with delight and with vain conjecture the sudden flash of loveliness, the large startled eyes, the mouth arrested in a smile, the fresh perfection of bloom that made the face like a flower or a ripened fruit. The unknown girl occupied her thoughts all the way to the village, and might have occupied them still longer, had no event arisen to interrupt them.Just before turning into her own avenue, however, she perceived a stately and cere-monious coach rolling sedately towards her, and a minute later recognised the mourning liveries of High Broom Castle. As the two parties approached each other the coach stopped, a footman sprang down, the door was thrown open; Lord Pevensey alighted and presented himself with a low bow. He had been making his formal visit, and expressed himself disappointed at not having found Miss Dalyngrange at home. Miss Dalyngrange civilly and indeed truthfully replied in similar terms."May I inquire, madam," proceeded his lordship, "whether you have any engagement for to-morrow? "She declared herself entirely at liberty."In that case Mrs. Duncombe is kind enough to invite me to dine with you tomorrow.""You will do us much honour," returned Caroline in an affable manner. "Our dinnertime, as Mrs. Duncombe will have told you, is half-past four, and for that reason I must hasten on or I shall keep her waiting."She gave him a gracious inclination of the head. His lordship brought his hat with an elegant curve from the whole length of his arm to the vicinity of his heart, bowed his powdered head to the same level, and in that posture remained until she had ridden on.Arrived at her own door Caroline asked of her old servant, as he helped her to dismount: "Do you know, Thomas, who that young woman was that we passed at the beginning of the Burling road?"The man seemed to hesitate for a moment."It was Goody Penfold's granddaughter, ma'am. She has been in service at Camchester, and has left her place."'And whose, I wonder,' thought Caroline, 'were the horse's hoofs for which Goody Penfold's granddaughter took mine?'"You have missed a visitor, my dear," said Mrs. Duncombe, when they were left alone towards the close of the meal."And in order to console him, you asked him to dinner," returned Caroline, smiling. "Whom, at so short a notice, will you ask to meet him?"If she was hoping to hear the name of Captain Hardy, she was disappointed. Mrs. Duncombe had already decided that the Rector was the fittest person to receive that honour."And Mrs. King?""Then we should need a third gentleman, and that is rather difficult. If the Admiral were still alive——""There is the Admiral's nephew," suggested Caroline, with an air of detachment."A young gentleman who deserves every attention—for his uncle's sake, and no doubt for his own. But he has not yet waited upon us. Indeed, he could scarce do so, for, I understand, he went on Monday to Camchester, and has probably not yet returned. No, I think it will be best not to ask Mrs. King on so short a notice. We must have a large dinner party for his lordship by-and-by. To that Lady Maria must be invited, and Mrs. King, besides other neighbours; and that will be the proper time to include Captain Hardy.""'Tis a pity that Mr. Shirley, who was so desirous of knowing Lord Pevensey, should not be here to help entertain him," said Caroline demurely, as they rose from the table.The morrow's little dinner of four partakers left a varying impression upon four memories. For Lord Pevensey it marked the confirmation of his opinion that Miss Dalyngrange was entirely fitted to become Countess of Pevensey. Dr. King, good simple man, took the pleasant moments as they came, and felt no shadow—beyond an uneasy foreboding that Mrs. King would expect him to remember the dishes. To Mrs. Duncombe the central fact was Caroline's unwonted pitch of brilliancy. Loquacity was never among her qualities, and even to-day she did not talk very much, but animation glowed through her like a flame through a coloured glass; her quick turn of the head, her sudden smile, her heightened colour, all proclaimed to the friend who had known her so long some inner excitement, some expectancy. To what, if not to Lord Pevensey's presence, could an experienced senior attribute such signs? And indeed, the open admiration and agreeable manners of this important stranger had doubtless a share in maintaining Caroline's unusual flow of spirits. Yet it was not by Lord Pevensey's words and looks that her mind was occupied, when she and Mrs. Duncombe presently retired to the drawing-room, but by the knowledge, incidentally gained from the Rector, that Captain Hardy had returned to Burling on the previous afternoon. She recalled Hardy's face, keen and confident, his voice, as it declared him fortunate in having shared the dangers of the great siege. Visions wove themselves around the pleasing image, scenes floated vaguely before her wherein he enacted the hero. The idea of Hardy it was which imparted so new a zest to the world, and made every coming day alive with promise. Lord Pevensey, although his personality too was gilded by the general radiance, was but a supernumerary—an agreeable supernumerary, whose admiration certified that, since she charmed his travelled and fastidious taste, she would assuredly charm that of another. Such thoughts, undefined and subconscious, lighted the spark in Caroline's eye, and kept the smile playing about her lips.She could not rest quietly in the drawing-room; she wandered to and fro, disturbed the love-birds, who were just putting away their heads for their night's rest, and finally sat down to her harpsichord and sang Dr. Arne's 'Water parted from the Sea.' Never had Mrs. Duncombe heard her voice so tender and so full.Half way through her song the door noiselessly opened, and Lord Pevensey, standing in the opening like a portrait in a frame, made a sign to Mrs. Duncombe not to speak. The songstress concluded, all unconscious, and the young man advanced into the room, followed by Dr. King."I think, Miss Dalyngrange," said his lord-ship, in those deliberate tones of his, so deferential that they touched the verge of condescension, " you must surely have heard Miss Linley sing that song at Bath. I have never heard any other lady perform it so much in her style."Miss Linley having been admittedly the finest of English singers, this was a compliment of somewhat exorbitant dimensions.Caroline avoided the dilemma of acceptance or deprecation by asking a variety of questions about the lovely 'Maid of Bath,' now removed by marriage from any possibility of being heard in public.At Lord Pevensey's request she continued to sing, and between the songs they kept up a ripple of dialogue, he leaning over the instrument with an air of great interest, and she replying gaily.Dr. King and Mrs. Duncombe meanwhile sat together by the fire and discussed the affairs of the parish, the gentleman entirely engrossed, the lady with half her mind upon the future that seemed to be so clearly opening.The love-birds slumbered in their covered cage, the logs crackled and sputtered on the hearth; the girl's voice rose, fresh and true and the young man, leaning a long hand on the harpsichord, gazed out over her head with dreamy eyes. No scene could have been calmer, more peaceful, more full of comfortable prognostication.IVON Thursday, March 27th, a date to be long remembered, Caroline, carrying, with her muslin, embroidering thread and a new pattern, went to visit Molly Dennett, a crippled girl who lived in a remote corner of the parish. At a certain point of the high road Miss Dalyn-grange and her maid alighted from the coach, which was to take them up at the same place in an hour's time, and walked across a couple of fields to the isolated cottage where, Thursday being market day at Storthing, Molly was sitting alone.A peaceful half-hour passed over the three young women in the little kitchen: Dorcas, the maid, was busy cutting measured strips of muslin at the table; the lame girl in her elbow-chair wrought out the new pattern slowly and laboriously, while Caroline stood over her, watching and guiding. The air was insidiously mild; March, after a bitter and boisterous week, was ' going out like a lamb.' Poor little blossoms, no longer nipped and battered, began to lift their heads; larks were singing above the silent fields; a few soft clouds hung high and still, and the brooding sunshine crept gently along the sill of the cottage window.All at once there was a sound of flying feet upon the bricked path of the garden. The three girls, simultaneously lifting their heads, beheld on the threshold the beautiful granddaughter of Mrs. Tenfold. Her bright hair, fluttered by the wind of her coming, stood round her like a nimbus, her eyes were wide and large in her pale face; she might have been painted for a lovely incarnation of terror."Oh," she panted out, and her voice and intonation broke the charm, "oh, grandmother's in a fit! Oh, do, do, somebody come and help. Oh, don't stand there staring! Oh, do come, directly minute! ""Don't you see Miss Dalyngrange, Philadelphia Penfold?" said Caroline's maid, drawn up very straight and stiff beside the table."Hush!" said Caroline sharply. "We will come this moment."Catching up her cloak she hurried out of the cottage and ran lightly down the path, the girl and the maid-servant at her heels.A few minutes brought them to the cottage where Mrs. Penfold dwelt, in modest prosperity, with an industrious unmarried son.Hurrying into the kitchen, they beheld its mistress lying on the floor, her cap fallen off and her grey hair loose. Her face was purple, her eyes stared, her breath came noisily. Behind her the ticking of the clock and the slight crepitation of the fire went on indifferent.The granddaughter, coming once more face to face with this alarming spectacle, broke into wailing lamentations. The maid, a demure and well-trained daughter of routine, entirely without initiative in moments of emergency, stood agape. Caroline alone retained presence of mind, knelt to loosen the unconscious woman's dress, and rising, bade Dorcas go instantly to meet the returning carriage and drive at full speed to fetch Dr. Grantham.Left alone with the scared Philadelphia, she inquired whether an attack of this kind had ever before befallen Mrs. Penfold. The girl, amid sobs, replied that she had heard say so; but had never 'seen her took this way.' Then, hysterically and half inarticulately, she cried out that it was a punishment upon her, that it was her doing, and that she had killed her grandmother."Stop crying," commanded Caroline; and when she had seen Philadelphia, with a subsiding gasp or two, obey, went on to make further inquiries."Did the doctor see her before?""Yes, ma'am.""Was anybody with her? ""Mrs. Sawyer, from the Blue Fox"The Blue Fox, a small roadside inn, of good repute, lay some quarter of a mile away."Then she would know what should be done. I will go myself for Mrs. Sawyer. Meanwhile, do you keep the door open to give her air. Do not put water to her face; this is no swoon, for she is not pale. You had best take off her shoes and wrap her feet in a warm cloth. Get plenty of water boiling, in case it should be wanted. I shall not be gone long."Philadelphia listened with tear-washed eyes that seemed to betoken feelings unutterable. Caroline, as she sped light-footed across the fields to the Blue Fox, was haunted by the helpless loveliness of those swimming eyes.Empty were the field paths, empty the strip of roadway. The Blue Fox, too, drowsed, silent and solitary. Caroline, breathless, ran in unchallenged, peeped into an empty room, where a red log smouldered on the hearth and a table stood spread for three persons; then guided by the clatter of pots and pans, audible through the half-closed hatch, made her way to the kitchen.Here the plump hostess was discovered, busily basting a joint that revolved before a roaring fire. At sight of Miss Dalyngrange the good woman paused, ladle in hand, open-eyed and amazed.Caroline explained her errand."But I can't, ma'am—I can't!" cried Mrs. Sawyer in distress. "There's three gentlemen to dine here, and nobody but me to see to the dinner.""Who else is in the house?""Not a soul but my boy, Jacob, who has been on an errand. My husband and my daughter are at market."For an instant Caroline stood in meditation; then she took the ladle resolutely from the landlady's hand."I will finish cooking the gentlemen's dinner. Jacob was always a sharp boy at school. Tell me what there is for dinner besides the sirloin."Mrs. Sawyer would have demurred, but Caroline was firm."Mrs. Penfold's life," she declared, "is of more importance than any gentleman's dinner. Jacob shall tell them that you have been called to a sick neighbour, and that a woman from the village is cooking."Mrs. Sawyer began to suggest that 'Madam Duncombe' would never forgive her if she should permit 'Miss' to wait upon gentlemen in the Blue Fox.Caroline assured her that she would remain invisible to the gentlemen, and that Mrs. Duncombe would be much more angry if Mrs. Penfold were allowed to die unaided in a fit.Finally Mrs. Sawyer, urged partly by her own good heart and partly by the consideration that Miss Dalyngrange was a person whom it was well not to displease, gave way.A large blue apron was girt about Caroline's person, a hasty sketch of the impending meal was furnished to her; the boy Jacob was called in and bidden to obey Miss Dalyngrange implicitly. Then having put into her pocket a little phial of old brandy, Mrs. Sawyer hurried away oppressed by many forebodings.VCAROLINE, left sovereign of Mrs. Sawyer's kitchen, began by surveying her assistant, and promptly sent him to wash, brush, and assume his Sunday coat. Returning sleek, out of breath and in a state of polished cleanliness, Jacob received a sermon upon his duties as waiter. He was bidden not to laugh, not to speak save in reply, to walk gently, to beware of dropping anything, and, above all, not to mention Miss Dalyngrange's name nor allow her to become visible to the diners. At each injunction he wagged a flaxen poll and murmured, "Yaas, 'm."Dinner had been ordered for a quarter of an hour from that time. Busy was the intervening quarter of an hour for Caroline. She peeped at the winter cabbage in its saucepan over the fire, beat up afresh the batter that was destined to become pancakes, thrust her head through the hatch to see that all was right in the dining-room, and sent Jacob to lay on more wood; then having observed an absence of mustard, mixed some in hot haste, fearing all the time to hear approaching hoofs. No lemon had been prepared for the pancakes; she ran into the pantry, discovered a net of lemons hanging in a corner, selected one, washed it, quartered it and set it ready on a plate. Nor did she, in the intervals of these multifarious activities, forget to resume the basting ladle and to keep an eye upon the due revolution of the sirloin.All now was ready, the joint done to a turn, the dish standing before the fire, the plates warming in the oven, the horse-radish scraped. To the bustle of the last few minutes succeeded a lull, in which Caroline had time to give a sigh to Goody Penfold and to be amazed at her own position.The respite was extremely brief. Jacob, who had been watching from the door step, dashed into the kitchen, crying: "They be coming, miss," and Caroline, catching him by the shoulders, adjured him to avoid so betraying a form of address.An hostler from the stables across the inn yard was heard taking the horses. Caroline sprang to the hatch and turned its snib in a panic, lest one of the guests should push it open and speak through.She heard steps in the next room, and the high notes of Jacob, explaining with astonishing glibness that his mother wished her best excuses—she had been called to a dying woman, or would never have deserted the gentlemen's dinner; a neighbour from the village who had it in charge was renowned as a cook; he hoped that the gentlemen would kindly put up with his waiting, and overlook any faults."And what's your name, my young waiter?" a gay voice asked.At the sound of it the listener in the kitchen came near to dropping the dish and the joint. It was the voice of Gilbert Hardy.He had come back, then, from London, whither she knew him to have gone.It was impossible not to smile broadly over the sirloin as she carefully heaped around it little piles of horse-radish. Jacob, running in with a face of gravity and importance, looked wonderingly at the mirthfulness of hers. She put the large dish into his hands and hastened to give her attention to the cabbage. That being also carried in, she addressed herself, not without misgivings, to the pancakes. An adept has declared that to cook a dish of pancakes requires three hands; and Caroline, though an admirable theorist, lacked the confidence that comes of constant practice. To toss them was, she decided, beyond her powers, and she declined upon the humbler expedient of turning them in the pan by means of a knife; but even this concession did not secure immediate success. The first pancake was too thick and looked like a fragment of Yorkshire pudding; the second was too thin and showed a rent in the middle, but the third and fourth and all their successors, wafer-like but unlacerated, golden yellow with patches of golden brown, were worthy of the renown with which Jacob had so airily endowed her.During these arduous moments of creation Caroline had naturally no attention to spare for the conversation on the other side of the hatch. Now, in the lull that succeeded to that stress, her ears received knowledge of three voices, two of which were unknown. The owners of these, it presently appeared, were officers stationed at Camchester; they seemed to have known their host before he went out to Gibraltar.Flushed with her work and smiling, she stood leaning against the wall of the kitchen. It seemed to her infinitely amusing that she should be acting as cook for Captain Hardy and his military friends. A pleasant vision flitted before her of some day telling him, leading up by mysterious hints to an avowal, and then enjoying his surprise and apologies.From these dreams she was aroused by the return of Jacob, who was now to carry in the final course of cheese, walnuts and home-dried cherries.The boy had just come back, cautiously bearing the tray, and Caroline was relaxing again into inactivity, when she heard Hardy ask for nut-crackers.Her glance instantly travelled round the kitchen in fruitless search for the desired commodity."Nut-crackers, sir?" faltered the voice of Jacob, and there was trepidation in his tones.Caroline was now in feverish haste opening drawers and cupboards, but her activity received a sudden check. Hardy's voice said briskly: "I'll ask the cook."She paused, terrified, her hands upon the open drawer, her eyes upon the hatch.She heard a step approaching, then saw the hatch shaken, but happily holding firm.Knuckles rapped upon it, and Caroline, recovering herself, turned to flee.The placid drawl of Jacob interposed: "'Tain't no manner of use, sir. She be 's deaf 's a post."Caroline's hand, clapped to her mouth, held back the rising laugh, and she heard the lad proceed, in insinuating suggestion: "We doos allers crack 'em with our teeth."At the same moment she spied a box on the upper shelf of the dresser and hastened to lift it down. In it, together with a pair of silver sugar-tongs and a punch-ladle, lay two pairs of nutcrackers. Hurrying to the kitchen door she met the emerging Jacob, received from him the dirty dishes and thrust into his hands the nutcrackers.The perilous passages of the dinner were now all safely surmounted, and the cook might draw her breath in peace, and hope by and by to get her cheeks cool. Jacob was permitted to indulge the wish burning within him of going out to inspect the gentlemen's horses, and Caroline sat down to await the return of Mrs. Sawyer.The kitchen was now perfectly quiet, and the voices of the gentlemen talking in the room beyond reached her ears distinctly. Presently she found herself hearing one of the strangers bantering Hardy upon his intention of remaining in so dull a place as Old Burling."Dull!" cried the other, with a laugh: "I'll wager he has found a pretty woman here.""Who told you, Darrell?" Hardy asked, with a kind of lazy gaiety.A shout of laughter rose.Caroline heard their chatter and laughter with the tolerant superiority of the silent stander by.The first voice was now offering a wager that Hardy would tire in six months of the woman and the place.Hardy protested that he meant to spend his life in Burling."He means marriage! On my soul, he means marriage!" cried the first speaker."Why not?" returned Hardy lightly.And now the hearer began to become a listener, and her heart to beat quickly. What was he going to say next? She had lost a few words from the others; now she heard Hardy speaking again, and speaking, it seemed to her, with a more serious accent."If you had seen the lady, Bainton—above all if you were acquainted with her fortune—you would applaud instead of scoffing.""Name! Name!" cried his companions.They rang their glasses on the table."Let us toast the fair and wealthy Miss——?"Caroline shrank with a hot blush from the possibility of hearing her own name, and hardly less from that of an altercation on the matter.But Hardy was not the man to fall into so obvious a dilemma."We will drink to her, by all means," he replied, "but it shall be by the name of Mrs. Hardy."To that name the three accordingly drank with acclamation, and Caroline breathed more freely.But the topic was not yet at an end."She is an heiress, then?" Bainton began again."A great heiress," Hardy cheerfully assured him.In that case Darrell was ready to undertake that she was an ugly creature. Never, he declared, did Fortune offer a man money and looks together."What is your opinion of the looks of Mrs. Siddons, Darrell?" Hardy inquired."You will not pretend that your country heiress is like Mrs. Siddons?""Indeed, but she is; the same height, the same brows, the same turn of the head. I vow, when I saw Mrs. Siddons come on, the other night, as Belvidera, I thought of Miss... I mean, I half thought myself back in Old Burling church, where I saw her for the first time two Sundays ago, and determined at once to marry her."Caroline, as she heard this, drew herself up into a posture of stern erectness, the brows that had been likened to those of Mrs. Siddons assumed as scornful a line as ever marked that lady's Roxalana, and vague shreds of schemes for the punishment of Captain Hardy's insufferable presumption began to gather in her mind."You are troubled by no doubts of the lady's willingness?" Bainton's voice resumed."Nay, why should he?" asked Darrell, "Gibraltar is a trump card with any woman just now. But take my advice, Hardy—don't hold up your trump too long. There's the new Lord Pevensey just come home, and 'tis a habit of that family to marry money."Here Caroline said to herself that it was impossible to remain any longer in the position of an eavesdropper. She would call in Jacob to take her place. But even in the moment of framing that design she stopped short. How could she suffer such sayings to reach the sharp ears of Jacob and to be retailed to all the parish? She sat down again with a sigh of submission.As she did so she heard the voice that she now understood to be Mr. Bainton's say in a tone of significant innuendo: "And how about the fair Philadelphia?"Caroline's breath stood still. What was this?Then she heard Hardy's perfectly careless reply: "The fair Philadelphia will doubtless do according to the custom of her kind and console herself with another admirer.""My Lord Theseus," remarked Darrell, "sails away, and leaves Ariadne to be picked up by Bacchus—or shall we say, Bainton?"The blood sang in Caroline's ears; a gulf seemed to open at her feet, a sense of physical sickness came upon her; the world was suddenly grown horrible, and fierce longings thrilled through her to punish and avenge. The image of herself advancing instantaneously upon this sorry crew and blighting Hardy with the lightning of her scorn shone momentarily alluring, but its predominance scarcely survived the flinging off of the hostess's apron. The breeding of Mrs. Duncombe's pupil forbade such primitive drama, and she resumed her seat, brooding darkly.The talk beyond the hatch had turned to other matters; she no longer heard it. Hardy's callous words rang in her memory; his utterance of 'the fair Philadelphia' was like the sting of a personal indignity. So would he have said 'the fair Caroline,' if instead of being the lady of Hoatham, Caroline had chanced to be the village girl.She sat on and on, as it seemed to her, for hours, her resentment growing ever deeper and fiercer. Naturally enough she did not in this tumult of emotion separate and analyse her own feelings, and was not therefore aware how much her indignation on Philadelphia's behalf was mingled with pain on her own account at the shattering of romantic dreams that had gathered themselves around Hardy's personality.In reality this interval of silent fury was but brief. Mrs. Sawyer came bustling in with a hopeful account of Mrs. Penfold, and Caroline was set free.The coach was reported on its way to fetch her, but, fearing the betrayal of its approach, she refused to wait, and stealing out by the back way walked to meet it.At home she furnished to Mrs. Duncombe, who was beginning to grow disturbed, an account of Mrs. Penfold's seizure and of the summoning to her aid of Mrs. Sawyer and the doctor. In narrating all this she seemed to herself to be telling a tale of last year. Concerning those experiences which she felt to be actual and vital she preserved the strictest silence. But though she could command her tongue she was not mistress of her complexion, and Mrs. Duncombe's attentive eye immediately noted her pallor.At dinner presently, when, by the malice of chance, a sirloin of beef was placed upon the table, the young lady showed an inability either to eat or to utter anything beyond monosyllables."I am sure, my dear," said Mrs. Duncombe, "that you are not feeling well; and indeed, such sights are distressing to the unaccustomed. I advise you to go and rest for an hour or two."Caroline was glad to obey, and in the solitude of her darkened room gave way to a wild storm of unaccustomed tears.VIWAKING in the chilly early hours of next day, Caroline began to see that her next need was for fuller assurance, and that only one person could give it to her.Soon after breakfast, therefore, she set out for Mrs. Penfold's cottage, her ostensible errand being to inquire after the grandmother, but her secret purpose to obtain from the granddaughter confirmation or contradiction—though how could contradiction be possible?—of yesterday's revelation.On the keen morning air, washed clean by a south-east wind from the sea, floated many voices. Thrushes sang in the trees; a pair of jays flew out screeching from the copse behind the ruins of Upfield Priory; the country side was full of courtships and quarrels and sudden whirring flights. Through all this ebullition of spring rode Caroline, grave, with a close-set mouth and stern eyes.At the cottage Thomas proposed to call Philadelphia out to her; but she insisted on dismounting, and went in, leaving the old servant to digest his disapproval as he could.Amid the forlorn disarray of the kitchen Philadelphia shone like a star. The weariness of a night's watching seemed only to add a more appealing pathos to the lovely eyes that opened wide upon Miss Dalyngrange and dropped again. She stood, timid and deprecating, the ready blush rising into her pale cheek.Indignation flamed again in Caroline's bosom against the man who could make a plaything of this defenceless, yielding creature. Compassion softened the voice in which she asked after Mrs. Penfold's health.Again, as Philadelphia replied, the vulgar accent struck a jarring note quite out of harmony with the flower-sweet face. The sick woman, it appeared, was mending; she was in bed in the upstairs room, where Miss Dalyngrange was invited to visit her.She declined."I wanted to speak to you, Philadelphia," said she. "You had best shut the door of the stairs."The girl's eyes widened, her breath came and went unevenly; she closed the door noiselessly."How long have you known Captain Hardy?" Caroline asked.The wide grey glance shot this way and that; Philadelphia clasped her hands on her breast and no answer came. Then she broke into tears."Oh, miss, miss, if you could bring him to marry me!"Caroline felt herself shrink. The lamentable outcry struck her like a knife. And yet, she had known this. A touch of repulsion crept into her pity; the girl was so abject, so unresisting.Philadelphia went wailing on: her relatives had been always so well thought of; her grandmother's heart would be broken; she was disgraced for ever."But he had that flattering way with him, and him a gentleman, and just from the wars, too. And he promised me, he did."The hearer's heart hardened despite herself. To reproach this broken-winged butterfly would be futile; but to encourage or to comfort was beyond Caroline's power. The spring of compassion seemed to be freezing within her, and no words would come. Deep in the subconscious recesses of perception she discerned Philadelphia's fate as predestined, the unerring outcome of her nature; the thing truly tragic was that Hardy should have been the man to inflict it.She stood silent, her head a little dropped. Philadelphia's eyes approached her, wavered away, approached again and clung, growing hard and sharp. In this silent wealthy girl, with her circle of dark lashes on a pale cheek, she divined an enemy; and she was not so altogether defenceless as Caroline supposed. Her plaint rose again, a little clearer than before:"But what's promises? It's money as gentlemen looks for."Her watching gaze saw the slender figure of the young lady stiffen and a deep blush burn slowly upward from neck to brow. A more skilful fencer would have left the thrust alone in its completion, but Philadelphia must needs try again."What's a girl ruined, more or less, to the gentry?"Caroline's eyelids slowly rose; the weight of her grave and steady gaze rested full on Philadelphia, and Philadelphia blinked and shuffled."You would be glad to go away from here, should you not?" said Caroline, gently but frigidly. "If you wish to do that, I shall be ready to help you. Have you any friends to go to, or shall I find somebody?""I've a good friend, ma'am, as I could go to," the girl answered eagerly; "married to a shopman, ma'am, in Camchester. She would lodge me, and I could do plain sewing and that, and everybody wouldn't be knowing and talking about me there.""Very well," said Caroline. "Let me know when you decide to go, and I will give you money for your journey and for a fortnight's lodging to begin with."She paused. She felt it brutal to leave so distressed a creature without a word of compassion and hope; but the icy constriction held her like a fetter, and, in spite of herself, a creeping distrust of the girl was beginning to insinuate itself.Compelled by a sense of duty, she spoke."You must determine to do better. You are very young yet. You may yet be a happy and useful woman.""Thank you, ma'am. I'll do my best indeed. You are very good, to be sure, ma'am," said Philadelphia, with exaggerated humility; and Caroline walked out to Thomas and the horses.The hoofs along the road beat out an ever-recurring phrase: ' What's promises? It's money gentlemen looks for.' The birds rioted on unheard. To Caroline the world was all tainted with sordid falseness, peopled with men who cajoled and derided, and women who cringed and wailed and shuffled. Deep in her heart the thought gnawed on that she would be compelled to meet Hardy and that the decencies of civilisation would forbid her to denounce him to his face.Such a meeting was not long delayed, for Hardy was a man prompt to act. Having made up his mind to win the heiress of Hoatham, he had despatched his various errands of business with the utmost expedition, had settled himself in his uncle's house, and was now prepared to set about his wooing with equal celerity.Caroline, coming in from the garden on the afternoon of this same day, found him seated in the drawing-room, conversing cheerfully with Mrs. Duncombe.She stopped short on the threshold; the scent of the violets that she carried came floating into the room. This pause was a little distressing to Mrs. Duncombe, who saw in it a symptom of shyness, of unreadiness, and who said to herself that Caroline did indubitably need the social training of a season in town."Captain Hardy, my dear," said she, and her tone held the faintest shade of admonition, "has been so polite as to wait upon us, and tells me that he hopes now to remain our neighbour."Here Hardy, who stood looking at Miss Dalyngrange, made a second bow.Caroline came slowly forward, curtsied, and said: "Captain Hardy cannot, I am sure, doubt that he will be made welcome."At these words, which doubtless sounded to him unexpectedly encouraging, a light of joyful surprise came into the visitor's face.Caroline, observing him from the citadel of her deep inner animosity, noted the fleeting expression, triumphed in beholding him thus befool himself, and suddenly perceived that along that avenue lay her vengeance. Since the social amenities compelled her to give him civility, she would give it him in abundance, suffer him to carry out his presumptuous scheme to the very end, confident and unforeboding, then, when he ventured to declare himself, turn upon him the mirror of his own words and overwhelm him with contempt. The soreness of humiliation which had fretted her for four-and-twenty hours relaxed; she found a sudden pleasure in playing her counter game, and, as the first move, she lifted her eyes and shot at her enemy a glance which set out to be a steady gaze of flattery and allurement, but which, between sincerity and shame, was unable to confront him for more than a breathing-space, and sank in a pretty confusion infinitely more flattering.Hardy, if he felt it flattering, had the grace to conceal his sentiment. He remarked upon the violets in her hand, and upon the charm of an English spring to a man who had spent two years in the aridity of Gibraltar. The literature of their day, mainly urban, seldom condescended to such themes, but these young people were country bred, and the green world was dear to them. Caroline looked down kindly upon her violets, breathing their fragrance. Captain Hardy was, no doubt, a perfidious and a mercenary lover, but he spoke agreeably and perhaps sincerely of his feelings as an Englishman. Moreover, it was acceptable to her to hear the praise of her own country-side. Mr. Shirley tolerated it, as containing her valuable property; Mrs. Duncombe regarded it as the sphere of duty allotted by Providence; Caroline, for her part, loved it, and here was a fellow-creature who seemed to love it too, and who uttered his sentiments well."I am glad," said she, "to find a travelled gentleman so much a rustic at heart. Our neighbours hereabout are always crying up the glories of London and Bath, and I have not the necessary knowledge to assure them that Burling is better.""Nay," returned Hardy, smiling, "I do not know that I would altogether say that, myself. Town has its delights too, and I am sure that when Miss Dalyngrange has experienced a season's admiration, she will be ready to acknowledge them. But there are more sorts of pleasures than one in the world, and for my part I would not willingly be so fashionable as to taste no enjoyment beyond the range of a sedan-chair. The good air and the green fields and the singing birds are all vastly pleasant things, and surely no man but a fool would rather ride in a narrow noisy street than over our open hills."Mrs. Duncombe remarked that Captain Hardy was quite a philosopher, and that few young men shared his sober views."I never thought, ma'am, to hear myself called by so fine a name; but 'tis true that the world seems to me full, in all its parts, of agreeable things, and that 'tis a folly to be always repining for such as are distant instead of enjoying such as are at hand. An opera is a fine thing, to be sure, but so is a nightingale; and a man who has not a French cook may make an excellent meal of English beef."Caroline started and drew her breath hard. At the mention of beef, yesterday returned upon her in all its enormity. If she had not forced herself to speak, she must have blushed."You are easily contented, Captain Hardy," she said lightly."Pardon me, madam," returned Hardy, in a lowered tone; and, in spite of herself, the look that gave significance to the contradiction stirred a certain commotion in Caroline's bosom. It was strange that a person so false should produce so strong an impression of sincerity; she had, at every minute, to remind herself what he really was, to resist at every minute an inclination to like and to believe him.Mrs. Duncombe, distracted by no such diversities, was evidently finding the visitor thoroughly congenial. The Admiral, his uncle, had been on all local and material questions Mrs. Duncombe's pope; and symptoms now became perceptible of a disposition to make the office hereditary. She expatiated upon the Admiral's steady opposition to smuggling, upon his influence for good over the fishing population, and in particular upon his great triumph in the reformation of a notorious drunkard.Hardy, whose image of his uncle was probably more vivid than anything she could evoke, listened with a civil smile and kept his attention upon Caroline.She, as usual, made but few contributions to the conversation; her dark eyes, looking before her with a pensive steadiness, were wells of mystery; she had the air of a young prophetess listening to voices unheard of the vulgar. But the voice that echoed in her ears was the same now easily answering Mrs. Duncombe, and the words that whispered themselves were ' the fair Philadelphia.' Her composed silence covered a bewildered sense of the monstrous and the incredible; she could not merge into one personality the smooth-mannered, decorous gentleman of the drawing-room and the man who had kissed and deserted Philadelphia.At last he had risen, given her his parting glance with the deceptive gleam of candour in it, made his parting bow and carried away his disquieting presence.Mrs. Duncombe, busied once more with the elaborate knitting that she had laid aside in order to talk, presently remarked, between two enumerations of stitches, that she was glad Captain Hardy was likely to remain in Burling, and that she had been pleased to note Lord Pevensey's extreme politeness to him."If a friendship should arise between these two gentlemen, who have both travelled and both served their country, it might be a great happiness for the neighbourhood."Caroline observed that she thought his lordship's behaviour very pretty."Coming home as he did like a monarch to ascend his throne, and finding the homage divided, one could not have wondered if there had been some show of coldness.""His lordship very properly felt that it was for him, as the superior in rank, to make Captain Hardy welcome.""After all," said Caroline meditatively, "his stay in Burling cannot be so very long. He will have to go back to his regiment."Mrs. Duncombe, after wondering a little, behind her tale of stitches, at this speech, decided that it must indicate unwillingness to see the brilliant orbit of Lord Pevensey obscured by any other presence. This interpretation strengthened her disposition to make Hardy welcome. It was always wise, this experienced lady believed, to keep before the eyes of a desirable suitor some fairly attractive rival. His lordship must not be permitted to suppose his success with Miss Dalyngrange a foregone conclusion. Thus reflecting, she knitted on in peace, while Caroline went away to fill a china pot with water for her violets, and to put away from her, if she could, the remembrance of Captain Hardy.As the days went on, however, her endeavours in this direction were continually frustrated. Every step seemed to bring her into contact with Hardy. If she and Mrs. Duncombe walked in the village, they met him; if Mrs. Duncombe walked alone, he returned with her on some plausible pretext. If Caroline rode, he would be encountered, either on horseback or on foot; a hat would be waved; the flash of his eyes and his smile would go with her. All the modest social life of Burling was pervaded by him; at the rectory he was treated like some favourite nephew; at Stanbury the young Attaways naturally held him in admiration, and the daughters of the house, in private girlish conclave, celebrated his charms; there never was an opportunity to forget him for a whole day at a time. Thus Caroline was for ever finding it necessary to remind herself that the apparently frank gaze covered duplicity, and that the gay voice had whispered tenderly into the ears of Philadelphia Penfold, who now sat, forlorn and deserted, in Camchester, receiving a weekly pittance from Caroline's pocket.Her own manner to Hardy inevitably appeared capricious. At one hour she would forgetfully accept him for what he seemed, and treat him with simple spontaneous friendliness; then, remembrance shooting across, she would give him a sudden look of distrust, and fall silent. Hardy bore these fluctuations very well, growing grave when she grew distant and animated when she smiled, but retaining, throughout, his own individual buoyancy and pleasant, unassertive self-confidence. Towards Lord Pevensey, on the other hand, whom she saw comparatively seldom, Caroline's manner was perfectly equable, polite and unmarked, while his lordship's manner to her was deferential, attentive, but not at all impassioned. Of him Caroline spoke readily, and always in commendation; but the name of Hardy rarely crossed her lips.VIIEASTER—late that year—was just over. The lingering spring came in at a rush; the hedges seemed to whiten and the orchards to blush in a single day, and April drew to its close smiling.On the eve of May-day, Caroline, returning, with Dorcas beside her, from a visit to Molly Dennett, came upon Captain Hardy at a gate of the field path. His elbows rested upon the uppermost bar; his chin was supported in the cup of his palm. A happy smile—an enemy might have said a fatuous smile—revealed the line of his teeth, and a certain dreaminess lingered in the eyes, usually so alert. Thus Caroline, as she rounded a turn of the path, beheld him for an instant, and in that instant received a warning. These dreams were of her, and the moment of decision was at hand.His quick ear caught their footfall—animation returned; he pulled off his hat, and stood holding open the gate for their approach."How kind is fate!" said he. "I was just about to turn homeward, and, behold, a star is sent to guide me on my way!""The orbits of the stars," said Caroline, a little dryly, "are, I have heard, calculable.""And if I calculated," returned Hardy, "would you blame me for adoring the brightness of the stars?""It is not my province to blame or to praise," said the young lady demurely.The path was narrow; Dorcas had dropped behind. Hardy lowered his voice."Your praise, Miss Dalyngrange, would be dearer to me than the applause of the world, and your blame——" he paused. "My future shall never willingly deserve that."Caroline's heart was beating tumultuously. No other wooer's voice had ever moved her thus. An impossible future rushed in wild cavalcade before her—a future in which her eyes looked with satisfaction upon a blameless Hardy.The clouds of radiance broke. This was Philadelphia's lover at her elbow; she remembered her own wealth: the pleading voice, the pleading eyes were but those of an actor. Now she could speak again, and at once uttered some trifling words of deprecation.She heard him sigh and felt the flutter at her heart again.They were within half a field's length from the village. Surely in this short space he could enter upon no intimate discourse.His next words, indeed, were not, on the surface, romantic."You expect your guardian to-morrow, I believe?""Yes," said Caroline, outwardly calm, but inwardly much disturbed. A sudden recoil overcame her, a sudden regret that she had not made clear from the beginning her disapproval. Vainly her mind went questing to and fro, seeking, even at this eleventh hour, some decisive words of dissuasion.But the opportunity was denied her. Steps came tripping behind them, and Prissy Attaway joined them.The three walked on together, talking of things indifferent, and the point of separation from Prissy was also the point of separation from Hardy.As they stood making their farewells, Prissy, smiling, remarked: "We shall have a glorious May morning to-morrow."She spoke with significance, and Hardy turned upon her a look of inquiry."You gentlemen, I suppose," said Prissy, with a little giggle, "do not trouble yourselves to gather May dew, and therefore a fine day is of no account to you."Half obliterated memories, all at once returning, brought up the image of a group of country damsels going forth obedient to tradition to wash their pretty cheeks in the first dews of May. He recalled also—a matter little heeded by boyhood—a custom of early rising on the part of these maidens' admirers. Prissy's observations were in the nature of an invitation.Hardy's look went to Caroline's grave face; words could not have spoken a plainer question."I too shall pray for a fine morning," said he, and as he bowed to her his blue eyes were dancing and his whole face irradiated.Caroline walked on, furious. How dared he to suppose himself sure of her? Spare him! Nay, let him meet the rebuff that he had justly brought upon himself. Had he spared Philadelphia? Once more revenge tasted sweet in anticipation; and she walked up the avenue with a smile on her face and a triumph as of some fierce early Israelite in her heart. Her enemy was given into her hand.May day, scarcely yet dawning, grey, pale and dim, over the grey-green downs, found Gilbert Hardy playing the trespasser in the Hoatham gardens.As he stood in the ambush of a yew hedge and waited for Caroline's appearance, his heart swelled with assured hopes. He devised in his mind ingratiating forms of address to a guardian, and reminded himself that, at the worst, Miss Dalyngrange had this very day completed the first two months of her twentieth year.By-and-by sounds reached his attentive ear. A door was being unbarred. A slender figure, cloaked, hooded and wearing but a very small hoop, advanced into the dew-bespangled garden. He let his eyes dwell with delight upon her, in no haste to advance. And, lo, while he gazed, smiling, a second figure followed—a figure large, stout and solid, encased in a caped coat, and crowned with a plain hat—old Thomas, her servant.At this spectacle, which was precisely what any reasonable person might have foreseen, Hardy was most unreasonably disappointed. To go forward and join her under the eyes of Thomas, and so inevitably suggest an assignation, seemed impossible. He remained in hiding therefore until they had passed, and then dogged them furtively.They walked before him at a good pace. Caroline seemed to be talking; she raised her hand and pointed. Long shadows, lavender coloured and pale, lay behind them on the path. Hardy, slinking along the wet grass at its edge, followed, and overhead the light waxed and warmed.Thus, by the short cut that runs under the hedgerows of two fields, the party of two and one drew near to the ruins of Upfield Priory, which lay against a slope of turf and woodland. The trees, all in leaf now, shone in their new greenness with the liquid translucence of gems. Beneath, drawn out like a plan, lay the ruins—a broken wall outlining the refectory, a cross of grey flagged pathway lying deep in the encroaching grass, and, in one corner, a block of masonry standing up still fairly solid. Hardy knew the place well; it had been a favourite resort in the days that he, an adventurous boy, spent in Burling with an adventurous uncle. Faggots, he remembered, used to be stored in that upper chamber; Lord Pevensey's steward had repaired the stone steps and fitted a stout door into the archway. He glanced across, and saw that the door, in those days so carefully closed and fastened, now stood open.As Caroline and her attendant approached, a voice called aloud from within the enclosure of the refectory; Caroline gaily lifted a cry of answer. Hardy shrank into the hedgerow, and a girl came springing through a gap in the wall.Thomas stood still, touched his hat, turned back.The two girls went up, arm in arm, towards the ruins.Hardy, unable to escape the eyes of the returning Thomas, took a step to the centre of the path and advanced at a leisurely pace, whistling gently to himself. He did not immediately present himself to the notice of Miss Dalyngrange and her companions, but sauntered round the outer wall, and presently came to a breach whence he could comfortably view the interior.In the open space stood, among the long green grass, four girls—Caroline, two Misses Attaway and Miss MarySmeed, from Storthing, who was in a riding dress. They were talking; a clear laugh came floating through the pearly air. Then they parted a little. Mary Smeed took off her hat and slung it around her by the strings, the three others pushed back their hoods. A great mass of dark curls came tumbling about Caroline's face; for a minute her long white hands were busy among the darkness, twisting and tying. Each girl, uttering apparently some words of incantation. now bowed forward, thrust her hands deep into the long glistening grasses, and raising them again, dipped her face into the hollowed palms. Moving on a pace or two, they performed the rite a second time and a third. The dew lay like stray tears upon the rosy cheeks. Caroline's curls, falling forward again from the ribbon with which she had bound them, were gemmed with sparkling drops.Suddenly, through the gap in the wall, came up a young man in long riding-boots— Mary Smeed's brother. The Attaway sisters called to him, held out their cold pink hands curved into cups. The young man bent his face to the one cup and then to the other. All three of them laughed aloud. Caroline, for her part, bowed to the newcomer gravely, wrapping her hands in her cloak.Hardy, rather ill-pleased to see another man before him, laid a hand on the wall and vaulted over. Sophy Attaway uttered a little scream; Prissy, her sister, smiled gaily; Caroline was quite composed. Miss Smeed, approaching, asked him how he had found them out."As the bees and the butterflies, Miss Smeed, find out the roses," Hardy replied."Nor is Captain Hardy alone in doing so," said Mr. Smeed. "I saw a man hurrying down the hill: I believe it was Mr. Broughton. Nay, there is even a coach astir thus early, and who can say how many passengers it may contain?"Even as he spoke a slender gentleman in a black suit came picking his way along the flag stones."Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," cried he, with an elegant flourish of the hat, "to Up-field Priory!"The young ladies beamed. Here was indeed a flattering attention—Lord Pevensey himself come to greet them!Hardy, naturally enough, was less gratified. What chance could there now be of securing to himself Caroline's company?Nor was the assemblage even yet complete. Mr. Broughton arrived a few minutes later, made straight for Caroline's side, and displayed every symptom of meaning to remain there. Lord Pevensey, too fastidious to enter into any competition with so boorish a rival, dropped back. Hardy, being of a warmer temper, found himself unable to emulate this self-effacement, and stepped forward. The little company was now beginning to leave the ruins, and Caroline, walking with a face of steady indifference between her two cavaliers, distributed equable monosyllables to the right hand and to the left.Lord Pevensey begged the ladies to use his carriage, waiting a little below; but they declined on the ground that their shoes were wet and that it would be unwise to sit still. Young Smeed, with pardonable self-satisfaction, now announced that when he left his horse at the farm near by he had ordered new milk to be reserved for the ladies from the milking.To the farm they took their way accordingly. There, on the table of the wide, tiled kitchen, they found:Dainty new milk waitingIn a flowing jug.and also, in a jug even ampler, brown homebrewed ale.The girls crowded into the chimney corner, stretching out their feet to the glowing logs. Hardy, with whom the woman of the house had claimed old acquaintance, stood talking to her with a pleasant courteousness, but Broughton pushed his way rudely after Caroline into the recess, where, from shortness of space, he stood absolutely touching her. She moved out into the room, and happening to look up, found herself observed by Lord Pevensey, who at once crossed over to Mr. Broughton and began very civilly to engage him in conversation. From any other man Broughton would probably have broken away, but he was susceptible to the advances of an earl, and Caroline, left in peace, understood and was grateful.Thus it happened that, when the company proceeded on its way, Hardy found the desire of his heart granted to him; he and Caroline were alone together and were the last of the group.The bridle-path which they were following was considerably longer than the field path, and it had friendly turns and windings. Hardy felt that his time had come, and felt also that momentary recoil, familiar to all of us, in which we see the gulf yawn that divides the silent now of our unspoken intent from the immediate future of the irrevocable uttered word. The trees, the fields, the very sky seemed to wait and listen, numbering each breath as it was drawn. Hardy, however, was not the man to shiver on a brink; he plunged, awkwardly."Miss Dalyngrange, your guardian comes to-day. If you would permit—if I might have your approbation.... Without it I would not venture to address myself to him."He stopped, breathless, well aware how clumsy, how worse than inadequate had been his words.Caroline, not being old enough nor experienced enough to reckon this want of ease in his favour, said to herself that he was not even capable of playing the base part that he had chosen.His application had been so framed as to render a definite answer hardly possible. She lifted her eyes in silence, and at once the whole temperature changed."You looked at me like that across the church, the first day; and it was as if light came to a blind man. Love seems so poor a word. Your heart must understand me, not your ears."For a declaration of love Caroline had prepared herself, but not for the voice in which it was uttered. She was suddenly in deep waters, swept forward without even an instinct of resistance. These surging emotions, unfamiliar and unlooked for, held her silent, oblivious alike of her own designs and of Hardy's duplicity. Past and future had sunk away together; the present, so curiously natural that it seemed like a recurrence, filled the world and spoke with this new voice, so persuasive, so vibrating.Hardy, watching her, felt hope irradiate the world like a sun."You love me?" he murmured.He touched her hand; his own was trembling.Suddenly a voice from ahead called to them; the cloud of glamour melted; she drew away her hand."Ah, but give me a word of answer," entreated Hardy.She looked at him with surprised eyes; she was like a person awakening from a dream. Remembrance came back in a rush."Tell me that I may speak to Mr. Shirley," he pleaded.Something had to be spoken hurriedly. Her thoughts were a maze of confusion. There seemed no possible decisive words."Yes, speak to him, and I will give you my answer to-morrow," said she; and then fell to helpless wondering at her own saying.They were in sight now of the rest of the party, and his raptures had to be restrained. The Misses Attaway were taking leave; their way home diverged at this point. So did Hardy's, and he judged it discreet to follow it. Caroline met his eyes; the tumult stirred again in her breast, and this time she was angry that it should.Hardy, full of radiant hopes, went home across the fields to his solitary house; and Caroline, alternately pale and red, walked with a grave face between Lord Pevensey and Mr. Broughton, pondering in growing amazement the inexplicable spell that had enthralled her.VIIION the morning of the next day Caroline, busy at her embroidery frame, was sitting in the same room with Mrs. Duncombe, who, on her part, was inditing domestic documents, and was therefore silent. Caroline, as she passed her needle from the hand behind the frame to the hand in front, brooded upon the words that she had heard spoken as she sat in the kitchen of the Blue Fox and upon those other words she had heard spoken yesterday morning in the bridle-path. A sort of dismay beset her. Things seemed to have come about that she had never designed nor foreseen; and her own acts, involved in this same progression, became rather inevitable than voluntary.There were sounds of arrival; a knock at the house door; steps in the hall. Some person had been shown in to Mr. Shirley, in the library.Caroline drew a deep breath, and the progress of her needle slackened.Ten minutes went by—a quarter of an hour. She heard the door of the library open. Her guardian appeared, and upon his brow sat perturbation."Caroline," said he very solemnly, "I have received a visit from Captain Hardy; I understand you are acquainted with his errand.""Yes, sir," said Caroline."You appear to have given him encouragement, instead of referring him to me.""I gave him no decided answer, sir.""But you promised him one, and he refuses to take it from me.""I am ready to give it," said Caroline, and rose to her feet."Stay, Caroline; I must know what you mean to say.""I will say it, if you please, in your presence. But, indeed, in this matter I must follow my own determination. I have given Captain Hardy my promise.""My dear!" cried Mrs. Duncombe, expostulant. "Your promise—without consulting your guardian!""My promise to answer him myself in my guardian's presence."She advanced towards the door.Mr. Shirley, upon whom thunder had burst from a blue sky, paused one moment, irresolute, and in the next, the chance for intervention was over; he could only, by begging for Mrs. Duncombe's presence, attempt to secure himself an ally.They rejoined Caroline at the library door; she opened it and stood back to let them pass; but her guardian, taking her hand, led her in with proper formality.In the library stood Hardy, his face all alight with hope; and near him, seated ceremoniously on the edge of a chair and nursing his hat, sat Dr. King. Both gentlemen bowed, and their countenances indicated, each in its own way, an increase of tension."Here, sir," said Mr. Shirley, "is Miss Dalyngrange, who is ready to give you her answer. But let me warn you that she will not be of age for nearly two years, and that in the meantime she is not at her own disposal.""If I should have the inestimable happiness," returned Hardy, "of gaining Miss Dalyngrange's favour, I shall not complain of any period of probation."He advanced a step towards her and delivered himself with a very good air and with a vibrating voice of his formal oration."Miss Dalyngrange, in the presence of these your honoured friends, I repeat what I said yesterday to yourself alone. I have loved you almost from the moment when I first set eyes on you. Your guardian will tell you that your birth and your fortune entitle you to a far higher match; and he will be perfectly right. You may, if you will, have a title and great wealth, but a man who loves you more devotedly for your own sake you will not find. I have ventured to hope that my love was acceptable to you; it is for you to tell me whether my hopes are too presumptuous."Caroline, with a measured utterance that presently quickened into warmth, began:"I have had the advantage, Captain Hardy, of hearing you speak of marriage once before—in the Blue Fox, when you spoke to your friends of the fortune you designed to win, and of Philadelphia Penfold, whom you have betrayed and deserted and laughed over. Ever since, I have known the value of your protestations, and I would rather give my hand to the poorest honest labourer on my lands than to you."As she spoke the colour deepened in her face, and kindled a flame in her eyes. Her wrath became her, however; seldom had she looked so handsome, never more imposing.As for Hardy, he stood quite still, his hands hanging at his sides, his head well up and his eyes unflinching, but he was excessively pale.Upon Caroline's last words followed a silence, which each of the three petrified bystanders longed to hear broken and which none knew how to break. It was the accused himself who first spoke, and that slowly in a controlled voice."Your aim, madam," said he, "has been to give me pain, and you have perfectly succeeded. But I remember that a worse thing might have befallen me. It might have been my wife who spoke thus. Your virtue, Miss Dalyngrange, is not of the kind that amends the sinner but of the kind that destroys. Ten words from you of gentleness and sorrow might have abased me to the depths of shame and remorse. I should have gone then, as I am going now, but I should have gone with an image in my heart that would have drawn my steps upward. You have chosen otherwise."He stopped short; bowed very definitely to her, bowed rather vaguely to the others, and walked with a steady step towards the door.Dr. King sprang up."Stay, Gilbert, I am coming with you.—Ladies, Mr. Shirley, your servant——"And the good Doctor, hurrying after the departing Hardy, left the three inhabitants of Hoatham face to face.Mr. Shirley, quite overwhelmed, sank into a chair and sighed audibly."My dear Caroline," said Mrs. Duncombe, in a mild tone of reproof, "it was surely unnecessary to make so violent and public a scene. A letter from your guardian informing Captain Hardy that you had heard his conversation with his friends, and therefore declined receiving his addresses, would have served the same purpose and saved much discomfort to us all.""I am sorry, ma'am, to have caused you discomfort," said Caroline, "but I cannot be sorry that I have told Captain Hardy what I think of him. For weeks I have endured his smiles and his compliments, and have longed, all the time, for the satisfaction of telling him that I knew them false.""That, my dear, is a satisfaction for the vulgar, not for a gentlewoman. There is something shocking to good manners in such denunciation. Captain Hardy, it may be, deserved no consideration, but surely your own position deserved some. He should have been beneath your reproach.""And, pray, Caroline," interposed Mr. Shirley, sitting up in sudden recollection, "how came you to overhear any conversation between gentlemen at the Blue Fox? What had Miss Dalyngrange to do in any such place?"Caroline related her adventure, succinctly, and when she had duly replied to the questions that arose thereupon, curtsied to her elders and withdrew."You were quite right, madam," said Mr. Shirley, as the door closed upon her. "Miss Dalyngrange has lived too much out of society. She does need a season in town, and the sooner the better.""If it were possible, sir," said Mrs. Duncombe, "I should be glad to see a messenger sent forward to secure lodgings this very day."Mr. Shirley was startled."To-day, ma'am?""If this affair should come to be talked of—and I fear that it will——""Nay, Mrs. Duncombe, who will talk of it? Not you; not I; surely not Caroline. You cannot think Dr. King likely to spread the tale?""Not purposely, sir, I am sure. But an unguarded word, from any of us, might set up conjectures—gossip is so easily set afoot. And Miss Dalyngrange should be diverted from brooding upon what has passed. I can imagine, in a girl of her temper, that this incident may, for a time at least, render her averse to any idea of marriage. On every ground it would be well to give her other things to think of as soon as possible.""Ah! I daresay you are right," said Mr. Shirley, and nodded his head thoughtfully.Mrs. Duncombe rose; it was never her habit to prolong her words after she had clearly made her point.In crossing the room, however, she paused and stood for a moment with her face towards a window that commanded a glimpse of the carriage drive."Lord Pevensey's coach," she announced, "is coming up the avenue."A conjecture shot into Mr. Shirley's brain."Best not tell Caroline so," said he quickly.Mrs. Duncombe, with an inscrutable countenance, curtsied at the door and left him.Lord Pevensey was presently ushered into the library, and it quickly appeared that Mr. Shirley's surmise had hit the mark. His business was, as Captain Hardy's had been, to make a proposal for the hand of Mr. Shirley's ward. But this suitor, being more observant of the proprieties, or possibly more certain of being acceptable to prudent seniors, bad made no previous application to the lady.Mr. Shirley heard him with mingled gratification and perplexity."Your lordship's proposal," said he, "does infinite honour to Miss Dalyngrange, and fulfils, I do not scruple to say, my own dearest hopes for her future. No possible alliance could be more entirely gratifying to her friends. Your lordship has, I need scarcely assure you, my warmest approbation—as far as I am concerned.""You apprehend that Miss Dalyngrange may be of a different opinion?""No, my lord—no; you must not suppose that. But the situation is somewhat delicate. Miss Dalyngrange is at the moment——I believe, my lord, I had best speak quite frankly to you. I have already to-day received a proposal for her from a gentleman whom—who, in short, would have been at best a very unequal match for her. He insisted upon receiving an answer from herself. It then appeared that Miss Dalyngrange had become aware, quite by chance, of some unhandsome dealing on the gentleman's part. Miss Dalyn-grange's fortune was shown to be the motive of his addresses to her; there had been another attachment—not altogether creditable. In short, she very naturally rejected the gentleman most decidedly."Lord Pevensey remained silent a moment."Am I to conclude, Mr. Shirley, that in your opinion, Miss Dalyngrange might, but for these circumstances, have been inclined to look more favourably upon this unnamed admirer?""Not at all! Not at all!" cried Mr. Shirley in dismay. "How can I have conveyed such a notion, which I never for a moment entertained? My apprehensions are entirely of another kind. Miss Dalyngrange has at all times been a young lady not very susceptible to the attentions of admirers. These are not, you may be sure, the first proposals that have been made to her, but she has firmly declined every one. She has, I believe, exalted ideas of the man who could please her—ideas which your lordship, I doubt not, would satisfy. But she has to-day received a rude shock; she has seen for the first time something of the uglier sides of a man's life. 'Tis possible enough—Mrs. Duncombe, I know, thinks so—that she would refuse any marriage, however eligible, if offered at the present moment. The truth is, she has lived too much out of the world. I am perhaps to blame. I feared to see Miss Dalyngrange resemble the loud, confident, unblushing young women of whom London presents so many examples; and I have allowed her, perhaps, to grow a little romantic,—even, it may be, a little singular. Mrs. Duncombe, the most judicious of women, warned me of this earlier in the year, and we are taking Miss Dalyngrange immediately to town. May I suggest to your lordship that it would be wiser to defer the avowal of your wishes until new scenes and new company have had time to obliterate the painful impressions of to-day? I suggest—I do not dictate. My part is merely to receive with joy your lordship's flattering declaration, and to declare on my own side that no other marriage could be so agreeable to me. If, however, your lordship chooses, Miss Dalyngrange shall be sent for this moment."Lord Pevensey listened with a grave face of polite attention to this harangue."I need not, I think," he remarked, " ask the name of the rejected suitor, and since his rivalry seemed the only one to be feared, there is no further immediate urgency. I am much obliged to you, Mr. Shirley, for your openness, and I will, as you advise, refrain from addressing myself directly to Miss Dalyngrange. I shall, however, add an entreaty that you and Mrs. Duncombe will at once send me warning should any other admirer seem to be winning her approval. But indeed I will myself come to town as soon as possible, and take every occasion of recommending myself to her notice."He rose."I can but applaud your lordship's prudence and patience, and look for the happy day when I shall be privileged to greet you as Caroline's acknowledged bridegroom."Thus, with civilities on both sides, the gentlemen parted, and Caroline remained unconscious that her guardian had on this eventful day interviewed a second aspirant.IXTHE person sent to secure a lodging in London for the ladies of Hoatham was the discreet and trustworthy Thomas. Letters were entrusted to him for Caroline's great-aunt, the dowager Duchess of Hartlepool; that imperious lady, having read them, decreed that Miss Dalyngrange must be accommodated under the same roof with herself, and a letter to that effect, written by the hand of one of Caroline's cousins, was brought home as quickly as possible by Thomas. The roof in question was not her Grace's property; she had for some years past been resident under that of Lord Somerville, who had married her elder granddaughter. The Earl of Somerville, however, a peaceable learned gentleman many years his wife's senior, was a person whom the Duchess seldom deemed it necessary to consult; and his countess had never outgrown the habit of doing as her grandmother bade her.At Somerville House, in Cavendish Square, therefore, the coach delivered Caroline, Mrs. Duncombe, and Dorcas, the maid, on an early date in May. A sharp spring shower was falling, the slanting lines of rain glittered, sparrows were chirping remonstrance, the end of a rainbow showed across the corner of the square, and a sudden gust of wind caught at the cloaks and skirts of the travellers as they set foot upon the pavement.Indoors two rustling ladies came hurrying to greet the new comers: Lady Somerville, and Lady Anne Gresham, her sister. It was nearly five years since they had seen their cousin; they exclaimed at her growth and her good looks."I always told you, Augusta, that she would be a beauty," said Lady Anne.Lord Somerville came forward from the rear of the hall. Polite but somewhat remote, he had the air of a man who hears around him the speech of a foreign land. And, indeed, all the interests in which he felt a real concern uttered themselves in Latin. A maid was sent to conduct Mrs. Duncombe to her room, whither Dorcas was bidden to follow her; but the ladies of the house themselves accompanied Caroline to hers. One cousin removed her hat, the other her mantle; they handled her with the smiling pleasure of children in possession of a new doll. Caroline found it delightful to look into these young kindred faces, to feel gentle fingers busying themselves about her, and to hear girlish voices exclaiming in mock horror over the belated cut of her gown."But you must come to grandmamma," said Lady Somerville, sobered by sudden remembrance of duty; and the three young women went gravely to pay homage to the sovereign of the family.The lady who in the days of George the First had been 'the beautiful Miss Dalyngrange' still retained, on the verge of eighty, the remains of a charming complexion, a pretty hand and arm, and a most imperious temper. She stared at her grand-niece for a minute or two in silence; then remarked to Anne and Augusta, "Now you know what your grandmother looked like at nineteen," and, to Caroline, "Now you know what you will look like at ninety.""I hope I may be so fortunate," said Caroline—a reply which, like her beauty, pleased the capricious fancy of the old lady.Lady Anne, as she led her cousin away, said to her: "Grandmamma will never be easy now till she has made a duchess of you. I am sure she is regretting at this minute that Hartlepool is but six years old.""And I am glad of it," said Caroline. "I am in no hurry to be anything but Miss Dalyngrange.""There speaks my own cousin," said Anne, "and I will not be so prying—at present—as to ask whether you say so because you have not yet seen the man whom you could fancy or because you have seen him."Caroline offered no elucidation; the subject of marriage was one upon which she was wholly indisposed to dwell.Life in Cavendish Square was to life at Hoatham as a rapid stream to a dull pool. From the late hour of breakfast in the morning to the still later hour of retirement at night there was incessant coming and going. Footmen with notes, emissaries with bandboxes, visitors of all descriptions, were for ever presenting themselves in the wide hall. Balls, assemblies and public entertainments occupied the evenings. Caroline, as her seniors had wisely foreseen, received from circumstances every possible assistance in thrusting out of mind the memory of Captain Hardy's misdeeds and of her own rather injudicious dealing with them.Mrs. Duncombe, having remained a fortnight in town, having seen Caroline's wardrobe entirely renewed, her style of hairdressing elaborated, and her minuet dancing perfected, returned to Hoatham assuring herself that affairs were now quite in the right train. But uncomfortable memories have a tiresome way of recalling themselves, and Mrs. Duncombe's satisfaction was a little premature.It was on the very evening after her duenna's departure that Caroline accompanied her cousins to the theatre, where for the first time she was to see Mrs. Siddons. Two gentlemen were of the party, one a professed admirer of Lady Anne, the other that Mr. Russell whose father had, earlier in the year, proposed him as a suitor for Miss Dalyngrange's hand, and who now seemed desirous to urge his suit in person.Caroline's mood was to all appearance gay and careless, as indeed was now generally the case; she laughed easily, talked more than had been her habit in the country, and took the world at large as lightly as Lady Anne herself. In one point, however, she showed herself to-night still unfashionable: she became absorbed even to breathlessness in the play, failed to hear the conversation of her companions, and exhibited to spectators less engrossed by the stage a countenance sympathetically tragic.The curtain fell upon the first act; Caroline breathed deeply and sat back, her face slowly relaxing. She found Mr. Russell and Anne looking at her with smiles."Do you think Mrs. Siddons beautiful, Caroline?" asked her cousin.Caroline's admiration was effusive.Anne began to laugh; Mr. Russell a little timorously echoed her."Do you know," said Anne, "Mr. Russell has just discovered that you resemble her, and he is perfectly right. Of course your nose is not so long and there is a difference in your mouth, but your eyes and the set of your head—oh, yes, altogether there is no doubt of the likeness."Caroline stiffened into unaccountable severity, and Mr. Russell withheld the compliment that was upon his lips.Anne's smiling gaze still dwelt upon her cousin's grave countenance."Has no one ever told you of it before?" she asked.Caroline hesitated: the moment in which she had first heard herself likened to Mrs. Siddons was cruelly and vividly present to her mind."Yes," she answered slowly, "I did once hear of such a likeness, but I had forgotten it."She leaned forward over the edge of the box and began to observe the audience. In numerable white powdered heads gave to the space below the aspect of a sloped field full of white cauliflowers. Gentlemen were standing up, seeking out their friends, bowing. 'Quizzing glasses' raked the boxes. The new face beside Lady Somerville attracted attention. Caroline felt eyes upon her, and fronted them boldly; her growing scorn for men in general made their admiration but a toy to her. All at once she encountered the unexpected stab of a glance that she knew—a glance that had first met hers from a coach on the road at Old Burling. Hardy, sitting here in the theatre, had certainly seen her, and now looked away, giving no sign of recognition. Caroline drew back. All the gaiety of the scene was quenched for her. The curtain rose and the tragedy proceeded, but the savour had gone out of it. The vision of the inn kitchen floated between Caroline's attention and the stage. The fact of Hardy's presence was more insistent than the woes of that beautiful woman yonder with the nodding plumes upon her head. Life was once more poor and mean and empty; her own denunciatory anger seemed as silly and as petty as everything else. And it was Hardy who wrought this transformation; if she might only never see him nor remember him again, she would continue to be at ease. So she thought, while the pompous waves of verse came rolling from the stage; Mrs. Siddons' feathers waved, overtopping the powdered head of the actor who stood beside her; and Hardy, below in the body of the theatre, kept his face severely in profile. Once or twice Caroline caught herself observing him: he looked older, graver; the buoyancy, the self-confidence were absent, and, in their absence, the deceptive air of sincerity was more marked than ever.A second time the curtain fell and social intercourse began again among the audience. The door of the box opened behind her. A voice at her ear uttered her name, and looking round she beheld Lord Pevensey.She named him to her cousins, and heard him claiming to be recalled by them as a friend at Eton of the late Lord Hartlepool, their brother."I remember you," he said to Lady Anne, "as a charming little girl.""Nay, then," she retorted, "it is clear that you do not remember me, for I was an odious little girl. But I remember you; you are Mr. Arthur Sabine.""Altered only in name," he assured her.Anne looked with pensive eyes above her waving fan."Ah," said she, with a tone of demure malice, "with what admiration we used to look upon you, my little brother and I! You seemed a being from another sphere—a friend of Hartlepool's, so old and wise and altogether marvellous.""Time redresses the balance," said Lord Pevensey. "'Tis my turn to look with admiration now."Lady Anne's whimsical eyebrows rose; she did not contradict.Lord Pevensey began telling Caroline that he had seen Miss Attaway a few days earlier, and that she had entrusted to him a small packet which he would do himself the honour to deliver in person on the morrow.Caroline found his deferential, unemphatic voice soothing; the world began to seem a smoother place and life to become a beaten track, quite endurable to walk upon.His lordship, having thus made sure of seeing her the next day, presently took leave, and in the next interval she saw him talking, with a great appearance of friendliness, to Hardy.XMANY weeks went by. Hardy was seen no more, and Caroline ceased to look round apprehensively as she entered a room. Time was softening the sharp edge of her remembrances, and something more nearly approaching to tolerance was stealing into her view of her fellow-creatures. Her standard, she now told herself, had been too high; only very few persons were really single-hearted and high-minded; but since one could not live in a moral hermitage, one must bear oneself civilly to these faulty companions and be satisfied cheerfully to play with them at cards or dance with them in a minuet. She retained, however, a great distaste for being wooed, and various admirers who ventured to pass from the playful note to the tender found themselves sharply warned off as trespassers.Lord Pevensey, discreet and wary, had never thus offended. He remained always attentive, courtly, companionable; and by degrees his society grew to be a habit which she could not readily have forgone. And at last, one hot day in July, when Caroline's return to Hoatham was already being talked of, his lordship concluded that the time had come to make a step forward.Caroline suspected nothing; Anne, who had been in the room with them, had gone away on a perfectly genuine summons from her grandmother; and Lord Pevensey was speaking calmly, as to a neighbour whose interests were somewhat concerned, about certain schemes of improvement at Burling.In the same even tone he presently added: "It would be a great happiness to me, Miss Dalyngrange, if our interests could always be thus conjoined—if the Countess of Pevensey might be, as I, alas, am not, one whose home from childhood had been in our own countryside."Caroline was for the moment surprised, but not at all agitated. The vista thus opened seemed not uninviting."I have always desired," proceeded his lordship, "that my marriage might unite me with a lady who should share my hopes and plans; and I have always regarded as folly the notion that a man could hope to mould after marriage the mind and the disposition of his wife. In you, Miss Dalyngrange, I seemed from the beginning to have found the countess of my fondest dreams; but I feared to believe my hopes. I resolved to seek a nearer acquaintance with you,—and perhaps I did foolishly, for my hopes have been so much surpassed that I know not how I could now endure their disappointment. Your guardian's approval I have already; the happiness of my future depends upon my obtaining yours.""You do me, my lord, great honour," said Caroline, "and I am sure that no better fortune could possibly be offered to me. But it is only right I should tell you that my sentiments for you do not go beyond esteem and regard. If it will satisfy you that no other holds so high a place with me, if you will not ask from me a warmth of feeling which does not, I believe, belong to my nature, I will do my best to fill the high place that you offer me.""I shall be amply satisfied," Lord Pevensey declared, "and will ask of you nothing but to accept graciously my admiration and my affection."He had nearly risked an intenser word, but prudently forbore. Nor did he suffer her to perceive the triumph of delight in his eyes; but, bowing ceremoniously, put her hand to his lips and murmured that she had made him the happiest of men. Then, still prudent, he left her to herself, and descended the stairs with a face so radiant that Anne, coming out of her grandmother's room, stood silent, staring at him.He did not so much as remark her presence, and she passed on with lifted eyebrows to the room where she had left her cousin.Caroline displayed no such transfiguration; even when Anne came and stood beside her, looking unspoken questions, she gave no reply beyond a smile—a smile of no particular significance at all."What have you said to make Lord Pevensey look so well pleased?""I have said that I will marry him if he pleases.""And you speak of it in that voice! Why have you done it? You don't love him.""On the contrary, I love him very well," replied Caroline, with perfect placidity.Then, beneath the silent eloquence of her cousin's face, she coloured a little, and continued, in a tone that had a touch of the apologetic: "As to anything more—I do not think I am capable of feeling passionate fondness, and I am sure I have no desire to do so. Lord Pevensey is entirely satisfied, and so am I."Anne hovered visibly for a moment on the verge of speech, but forbore after all to take the plunge. She sighed, stooped and kissed her cousin."If you are sure, my dear, that you know your own mind, all is well, and, to be sure, it is a fine marriage for both of you. Grandmamma will be pleased."Not only Lady Hartlepool, but everybody else seemed to be pleased. Mrs. Duncombe wrote quite expansively; Lady Maria Sabine declared that her nephew was giving her the niece whom she had always desired; and Mr. Shirley regretted that his good friend, her father, had not lived to see this happy development. Never was a marriage more generally approved and applauded. Only one point could possibly be regretted—the fact that propriety forbade the celebration of the wedding within the period of the bridegroom's mourning for his grandfather. According to the strictest formalists, this period should have extended to a twelvemonth, but his lordship was disposed to curtail the time by one-fourth, in which case the wedding might take place in the first week of November—a date which Lady Maria thought somewhat unduly early.Caroline expressed neither impatience nor any desire for delay. "I should be sorry to show disrespect to your grandfather's memory, but I should think that something under the full year should be long enough," she observed calmly to her bridegroom.In November, therefore, the marriage was to be.Preparations now began to be made for Miss Dalyngrange's return to Hoatham, and Mrs. Duncombe came up to accompany her journey. The good lady was unwontedly demonstrative; the prospect of losing the pupil to whom she had devoted thirteen years weighed sadly upon her spirits and almost counterbalanced the gratification of this fine marriage."My life will be hardly less altered than yours," she said—an amazing speech from Mrs. Duncombe, who never spoke about herself."Dear Mrs. Duncombe, you must still take care of Hoatham. Indeed, this marriage will not take me away from you; and you know how highly Lord Pevensey thinks of you. He would never wish me to lose my wisest adviser. Why, I shall want you more than ever. I am sure you know exactly what a countess ought to do."Thus, in a coaxing tone and with gentle caresses, did Caroline endeavour to console her friend.Mrs. Duncombe, smiling away a tear, slipped her hand into her capacious pocket and there found not only her handkerchief but also a letter."Oh, my dear, Dr. King's letter! How came I to forget it! He writes to congratulate you and his lordship,"The letter was a happy diversion; amazement at her unexampled forgetfulness carried Mrs. Duncombe's mind away from sorrowful reflections.Caroline sat down in her own room to read the Rector's polysyllabic good wishes. They were exactly what might have been expected, and she read with a half smile, hearing through the rounded periods the familiar pulpit voice.But at the end came a paragraph upon a different topic. Caroline, before leaving home, had entrusted to the Rector the duty of acting as her almoner towards Philadelphia Penfold, and had furnished him with the necessary funds.He now wrote:. . . Furthermore, since I have occasion to send you a packet, I think it right to mention that Philadelphia Penfold is no longer in need of your assistance, and that I have taken upon myself to withhold further payments to her. Having gone, the other Sunday, to preach in Camchester, I was surprised to see her, very gaily dressed, driving in a light cart with a prosperous-looking young man and a child of near a year old beside her. I made inquiries, and found that she had been married about three weeks before to a butcher of the town. She would appear to have passed herself off upon him as a young widow, and the child is undoubtedly her own. It must have been born some months before the siege of Gibraltar was raised. You will see, therefore, my dear Miss Dalyngrange, that your judgment of Gilbert Hardy was somewhat too severe, and that the first lamentable perversion of this young woman lies not at his door. I earnestly hope that, having now attained a secure position of comfort and decency, her conduct will at least be regular; but it seems to me, I must confess, an unfavourable sign that she should have gone on receiving your money for three weeks after her marriage. Nor can I learn that she communicated the fact to her grandmother and her uncles. I fear, my dear Miss Dalyngrange, that all this seems to betoken a sadly designing young creature. You may, in any case, rest assured that she is now completely removed from indigence, and that your benevolent heart need no further concern itself with her future.Caroline, as she read, blushed slowly and deeply. Her outburst against Captain Hardy, it appeared, had been, as far as Philadelphia was concerned, a little ridiculous, and that young person by no means the innocent and guileless victim supposed. Caroline's anger flamed anew as she thought of Philadelphia's tears, Philadelphia's meek gratitude. Oh, indeed, it was a fraudulent world! Nor did this sudden drop of Philadelphia's scale very greatly exalt that of Hardy. She had so long felt bitterly and distrustfully towards him that her view could not, all in a moment, be readjusted. He remained in her mind the man who had spoken lightly of winning her for her wealth's sake—the man whose callous levity had first dimmed her young illusions.She resolved to communicate to no one this portion of Dr. King's letter, which was fortunately on a separate inner sheet, that could be burned. At once she set a candlestick on the empty hearth, knelt and watched the paper flame, blacken and crinkle away into thin ashes. Rising to set back the candlestick on her dressing-table she caught sight of her image in the mirror, and gave a sudden bitter laugh.Yes, they were right: she was like Mrs. Siddons.XICAROLINE was back once more at Hoatham, and the August sun glowed upon familiar fields and hills. Familiar as they were, their aspect was no longer quite the same, for the eyes that looked upon them were now not so much the eyes of Caroline Dalyngrange as of the incipient Lady Pevensey. Formerly the surrounding world had been a pleasing panorama upon whose progress she gazed, superior. Now she saw it—land and people alike—as a possession demanding thought and devotion. She had been a sovereign always; but a sovereign accustomed hitherto rather to recognise the dues of observance from below than those of ministration from above. Her little world, from being a background to her personal life had become a field of labour. From which it may be concluded that Caroline had matured considerably in the course of six months, and also that something of the first illusory bloom had departed from her existence.How far she had travelled, she was not herself fully aware, but some suspicion of the distance hovered around her when, on the morrow of her return, the Misses Attaway came to call at Hoatham.The four-o'clock temperature of an August day, hot with accumulation, brooded over house and lawn; the ladies were discovered seated in a black patch of shadow on the terrace; Caroline's fan fluttered idly to and fro; Mrs. Duncombe's knitting lay untouched in her lap; bees were humming among a tangle of sweet-peas beside the drawing-room windows, and the clean, fresh scent of the flowers came floating on the hot air, a delicious alleviation.Across the intense green of the lawn advanced Miss Prissy and Miss Sophy, their straw hats pulled forward over their eyes, and their muslin skirts unstirred by any breeze.They sat down on the stone benches of the terrace, Sophy beside Mrs. Duncombe, Prissy beside Caroline. From the former pair a murmur of discreet converse arose at once; between the latter the stream ran more unevenly.Prissy began by offering her congratulations, which Caroline received placidly and with a smile. Her thoughts, however, were busied with a question of which she desired greatly to know the answer, but which she did not venture to put. She came as near as she dared by inquiring presently: "And what news is there in Old Burling? Pray tell me, is anybody dead or married? Has anybody come new into the parish, or anybody gone away?"Prissy began a little tale of few and trite occurrences, and by-and-by the name for which Caroline was listening came. Captain Hardy, said Prissy, was still away; and her eyes, as she said it, dwelt upon Caroline's face and betrayed some unspoken suspicion."He has been away," she went on, "ever since May, and we hear nothing of him; but I dare say he is in London.""I saw him there once, some time ago," Caroline remarked calmly.Prissy paused a little; her eyelashes rose and fell uncertainly; she turned a listening ear in the direction of the other seat. Then, lowering her voice, she asked: "Have you heard anything of Mr. Broughton?"The name fell upon Caroline's ears like something out of a closed past. The prospect of her marriage seemed to have removed Mr. Broughton to a vast distance.She answered lightly: "Nothing; pray let me hear. Is he also going to be married? That might be good news—except, indeed, for the lady.""Oh, no," said Prissy, "but there has been more smuggling, and the revenue men have been hereabouts, watching; and about a fortnight ago they caught a gang in the bridlepath beyond Storthing, with two packhorses, and there was a fight—and shooting.""Was anybody hurt?""Two were killed—one of the revenue men, and a man from Withley who was with the runners; and I believe a good many of them were hurt, but they managed to carry them off and to leave only the horses and the barrels."She paused."There were two men with them on horseback; they had masks, but the officers said they looked like gentlemen.""Was any one arrested afterwards?" Caroline asked."No; but one of the Storthing Johnsons has not been at home since. His mother says he joined a Camchester fishing-boat the day before. And there are two of Mr. Broughton's men who say they cut themselves with a reaping-hook that was left in a hedge. But—Mr. Broughton went away next morning, and people say his arm was in a scarf."Caroline looked very grave."It would be a good thing for the country," she declared, "if Mr. Broughton were taken and transported.""Hush!" whispered Prissy quickly. "It is not proved against him, and my father forbids us to talk of it; he says we must not speak evil against our neighbours. And—and Mr. Broughton is a dangerous man. You remember how Farmer Warren's stacks were burned after he quarrelled with him? So you will not tell any one that I told you; but I thought it was right you should know what has happened.""I am much obliged to you, my dear; and I will not repeat the story—though I am not afraid of Mr. Broughton."She drew up her neck and her lip, and her dark eyes looked out, at once defiant and laughing, across the glittering green of the lawn."I should be afraid, if I were you," said Prissy, "that he might wish to fight his lordship."Caroline smiled and shook her head."By the time his arm is healed, he will have forgotten me. And besides, Mr. Broughton may be rude to women and tyrannical with the poor, but I do not see that he is very apt to face men of standing. He must surely have hated Admiral Hardy, but he never said so much as an uncivil word to him. No, my dear Prissy, men like Mr. Broughton are dangerous only to the weak and the timid.""I hope so," said Prissy, a little doubtfully; "but I am glad he is gone away.""Well, and I am not at all regretting that, myself," Caroline returned with a laugh, and began once more to wave her fan, which while she listened to these communications had lain motionless on her knee.Prissy arrested its movements."Sure, your fan is new. Is that the last fashion?"Caroline replied with all the seriousness that such a question required; and the talk passing from persons to habiliments presently demanded a retirement to the house and an inspection of Caroline's London purchases.The tale that had been told to her remained long enough in Caroline's thoughts to strengthen, if that had been necessary, her well-established dislike of Mr. Broughton, but soon, nevertheless, dropped into the background of her memory. Matters of more personal import occupied her. Lord Pevensey rode over constantly from the Castle; there were endless interesting consultations about the rearrangement of rooms, about re-furnishing, and about the laying out afresh of a long-neglected garden. Never in her life had so many matters been submitted to Caroline's decision. Never had her days been so pleasantly full and her wishes so eagerly observed.Her attachment to Lord Pevensey, though it grew indeed and deepened, remained still singularly calm. His presence pleased her, but she did not thirst for it when withdrawn; her pulses did not leap at his step nor did foolish apprehensions beset her if his coming chanced to be delayed. Her emotions being thus equable, her demeanour was perfectly irreproachable; she conducted herself with a graceful serenity that fulfilled Mrs. Duncombe's fondest hopes, and that kept Lord Pevensey upon a constant stretch of daily disappointed hope for something more. Prudently, and with admirable self-control, he refrained from expressing his condition, and only once or twice did a look or tone, escaping unawares, betray that his sentiments included elements of ardour. Such glimpses were discomposing to Caroline, whose strongest desire it was to continue upon the smooth artificial ice of courtesy and to forget the unstable depths below.The days went on; the harvests were carried, and the hedges now shone thick with blackberries; apples dropped with every wind into the orchard grasses and the old-fashioned dahlias and peonies nodded their heavy heads beside the garden walks. In cottages of Burling and Rivelsfield, seamstresses were busied every afternoon upon Miss Dalyngrange's bridal outfit, and Molly Dennett embroidered coronet after coronet upon fine pocket handkerchiefs.On the last Sunday in August, the ladies of Hoatham, alighting at the churchyard gate, perceived Mr. Broughton among the group of loiterers beyond it. He stepped forward with alacrity, but another was before him, and he had the mortification to see Lord Pevensey not only hand Miss Dalyngrange to her pew, but follow her and shut himself in beside her. Having returned but the day before from a trip to France, this spectacle was Mr. Broughton's first intimation of the new state of affairs. The unreasonable wrath of this ill-governed gentleman accumulated steadily throughout the enforced inaction of the service, till, finding it grow intolerable, he suddenly, to the amazement of the congregation, arose in the middle of the sermon and strode out of the building, followed by the frightened stare of Prissy Attaway's blue eyes. No such hostile demonstration, however, as Miss Attaway apprehended ensued. Perhaps Mr. Broughton's sword arm may have been stiff.But, a few days later, having assured himself of Lord Pevensey's absence and bribed a young under-servant to inform him of the moment when he might find Miss Dalyngrange alone in the garden, the disappointed suitor presented himself before her, in the wild design of cajoling or terrifying her into yielding to his wishes.Undaunted by the extreme haughtiness of the slight and silent curtsey bestowed upon him, he began in a strange mixture of threats and entreaties to urge that she should give up Lord Pevensey and reward his own far older devotion.He found himself contemptuously cut short. Caroline, whose spirit did not endure with patience a scene of this sort, measured him from head to foot with a look of utter scorn, said coldly: "You forget yourself strangely, Mr. Broughton," and walked sharply away towards the expanse of lawn where two gardeners were busy with scythe and roller.Mr. Broughton, left with half his eloquence unexpended, remained standing irresolute and heard her call one of her servants.The man dropped the handle of the roller and came hurrying towards her."Open the gate for Mr. Broughton," said Caroline; and Mr. Broughton, with a sullen brow and fury in his heart, found himself compelled to withdraw.Mrs. Duncombe, when she heard of this interview, was alarmed, and demanded from Caroline a promise not to walk alone again, even in the garden. For her own part, Caroline felt nothing but anger; Mr. Broughton seemed to her offensive, not formidable.A day or two later they heard that he had gone to London; and Mrs. Duncombe, freed from the immediate terror of his presence, began to recover her composure and to feel it safe once more to go and sit of an afternoon with Mrs. King, who happened at this time to be keeping her bed with a sharp attack of rheumatism. To Lord Pevensey no mention was made of Mr. Broughton's behaviour: women in those days chose rather to undergo such annoyance in silence than to utter the complaints which might involve their nearest and dearest in a duel—and the ill-conditioned among men were often, it would appear, shrewd enough to reckon upon that silence. Thus passed away the first ten days of September, and the interval before Caroline's marriage began to be reckoned by weeks.XIICAPTAIN HARDY, rising from a solitary supper in a London tavern, was somewhat surprised to see Mr. Broughton issue from another box and advance towards him, saying, as he did so: "I am glad to meet you, Captain Hardy."Hardy bowed, but did not find himself able to express any reciprocation of pleasure. The company of Mr. Broughton, never engaging, seemed less so than ever at a moment when he was evidently excited, and indeed, according to Hardy's estimate, about three parts drunk."I have been wishing to see you," Broughton proceeded with suspicious solemnity. "This is no place to mention names. I shall be happy to walk home with you to your lodgings."Hardy, after an instant's pause, replied that Mr. Broughton did him great honour, and that he was lodging in Buckingham Street.The two gentlemen came out together into the Strand, and set their faces westward."I was not aware, Mr. Broughton," said Hardy, by way of saying something, "that you were in town.""I only came up two days ago. I have been three weeks or more in the hands of an accursed apothecary—touched in the sword arm—damned silly duel about a game of cards. Ay, as I was saying—I came up the day before yesterday, and if there should be trouble, you can swear you saw me here tonight.""That I can certainly do," Hardy answered, civil, but wondering and on his guard.They turned into the backwater of Buckingham Street, and ascended to a pleasant enough parlour on the first floor.Hardy gave a chair to his undesired guest, closed the door and sat down to await Mr. Broughton's communications."Have you heard," asked Broughton, "that Miss Dalyngrange is to marry Lord Pevensey?""I had not heard it; but I expected it.""And do you mean to sit down under it?" Broughton demanded, striking his hand upon the table with such violence as to shake off the hat that he had flung there.Hardy scanned his furious countenance, the rolling inflamed eye, the veins that showed, swollen, on the temples, the twitching of the heavy protruding jaw, and said to himself that the man was scarcely sane."Miss Dalyngrange," said he, "is free to choose as she pleases.""No," said Broughton, with an oath, "that she is not. I loved her before he ever saw her. He! A smirking puppet! She does not love him. What woman could? She is jilting me for a coronet. But, while I walk this earth, she shall never wear it."Hardy leaned back in his chair with a visible air of impatience."If it had been you—you are a man at least. A woman might have had a fancy for you. Though, mind, I would have shot you if she had.""Or I might have shot you," Hardy suggested."But she treated you to her tricks—led you on and threw you over—all Burling knows the story."Hardy silently bade himself not suffer this creature to enrage him."Have you never planned to revenge yourself?" Broughton asked, leaning forward across the table."Not I.""But you would be glad of revenge?"It began to occur to Hardy that 'this creature' might possibly be dangerous—not to him, but to others. It might be as well to see to the bottom of this murky mind.He answered, therefore, with the equivocal generalisation that revenge is sweet; and Broughton, catching at the phrase, worried it to and fro as an excited dog will worry an end of rag. Ay, revenge was sweet; that chit of a girl should find that he was not a man to be played with; he was no cur who could be kicked without turning to bite. Then, suddenly confidential, he bent forward again, and said with a smile: "I have been reading a novel while I was laid up—Sir Charles Grandison, and I have learned a trick out of it. Did you ever read Sir Charles Grandison, sir?"Hardy assented; and an odd whiff of memory brought up around him the bare white barrack-room at Gibraltar where, through long tedious afternoons, he had followed the fortunes of the blameless and prosperous hero."Then you remember how Sir Hargrave served Miss Byron? What is to keep me from serving Miss Dalyngrange the same?"Hardy observed that things might be easily related in a story which were difficult to con-trive in real life; and that, moreover, Sir Hargrave did not succeed in his abduction.Mr. Broughton replied that Sir Hargrave was a nincompoop, and that he would manage better."So you say," said Hardy, and shrugged his shoulders."Say!" repeated the other, passing swiftly from amity to anger: "What will you wager that I do not marry Miss Dalyngrange before midnight to-morrow?"Hardy felt a shock, but forced himself to a laugh."I tell you," said Broughton slowly, "I will marry her to-morrow night in my own house at Pallavere."Conviction ran with a physical throb through Hardy's heart. Unquestionably these words indicated some real design."To-morrow is not the first of April, Mr. Broughton," said he lightly; and Broughton, stung by a desire of overcoming the other's incredulity, poured forth a detailed plan. He had a pretty troop of brave fellows at his orders, who thought no more of cutting down a revenue officer than of knocking over a rabbit. A servant at Hoatham was in his pay. He knew that on the morrow night Dr. King would be away from home and Mrs. Duncombe would be with Mrs. King at the rectory. What could be easier than to attack Hoatham and carry off its mistress? He had a parson in his eye—a famous fellow, who would ask no inconvenient questions—had him waiting at Pallavere in readiness at this moment.Hardy, listening with a composed face and bright eyes, perceived clearly that the thing was feasible enough for any man so mad as to disregard its consequences. Hoatham, taken unprepared, could offer no serious defence. For half an hour it would be at the mercy of its assailants, and half an hour would suffice. A quick vision ran before him of Caroline in these brutal hands; and sharp on the heels of it followed the thought that he might stab Broughton to the heart, here and now. That temptation, however, was short-lived, assassination not falling in with his traditions.He heard Broughton explaining that he was to set out at six to-morrow morning, and that he had come to Hardy—feeling sure of sympathy—so that, in case of failure, he might prove an alibi. Another thought rushed into Hardy's brain. It might be possible to detain Broughton, to prevent his departure and to send a warning, meanwhile, to Lord Pevensey. Instantly he was resolved to try."It is a great scheme," said he slowly. "But I see a flaw in it: I can swear that I saw you to-night, but I cannot prove that you did not set out immediately you left my rooms. Why not remain here? My room is at your disposal. And then I can swear that you spent the night here, which will be much more to the purpose."Broughton burst into a great laugh, and cried out that he had been sure that Hardy would help him. Yes, he would stay.Hardy rose and went to the sideboard, whence a clinking of glasses became audible."Ay, a great scheme," he repeated. "Pray let me hear all about it. 'Tis a vastly interesting tale."Then, with a remark to the effect that talking was thirsty work, he set two glasses on the table and filled one for his guest.Broughton drank eagerly, and eagerly also described his project. A chaise was ordered for six o'clock; he had not bidden it to his lodgings—he was to take it up in Dean Street, Soho; no gossiping servant would have a chance to betray him. He would breakfast in Croydon, dine in Guildford, and reach Pallavere before dusk.Hardy led him on with flattering interjections and kept his glass full.Broughton drank and drank again, and sat repeating with ever less and less coherence what he meant to do.Hardy watched him pass from the denunciatory into the pathetic and finally into the inarticulate stage of inebriety. The moment for action had come. Adopting that laconic and imperative tone which is so often effectual with gentlemen in Mr. Broughton's condition, Hardy now commanded him to go to bed, took him by the arm, raised him to his feet and piloted his staggering course into the adjoining bedroom. Having then removed Mr. Broughton's sword and persuaded him, not without difficulty, to be parted from his boots and his cravat, Hardy pitched his guest unceremoniously upon the couch intended for his own repose, watched him lapse into complete unconsciousness, cast a blanket over him and left him to his slumbers.Before the table and the empty glasses he sat down to ten minutes' hard thinking. If Broughton's words were in any degree to be trusted, there impended over Miss Dalyngrange a serious danger, which it was his own duty to avert—his duty and also his keenest desire. On the other hand, nothing could be more intolerable than to present himself at Hoatham in the character of a superfluous champion. Better even that, however, than to risk being absent if needed. No, he must go to-morrow, early, diverting to his purposes if possible the chaise ordered by Mr. Broughton, and must lay this story before Lord Pevensey.Having reached this conclusion, he turned the key gently upon the door of his bedroom, wrapped himself in a riding-cloak that he had fetched on purpose from that apartment, stretched himself in an arm-chair and before long slept. His slumbers were light; several times he sat up to listen. Finally, long before daybreak, he heard Broughton astir in the inner room. Rising noiselessly he stepped on tiptoe to the door and listened.Broughton, within, was stumbling about and cursing. Presently steps approached the door to which Hardy's ear was inclined; the handle turned and the door was violently shaken.Broughton began to call loudly and angrily; it became clear that he would presently rouse the house. Hardy, with a sigh, recognised the impossibility of retaining his captive under lock and key, and hastened to open the door."Wait a moment, Broughton; I will fetch a light."He brought in from the landing a lantern, which in that laborious age of flint and tinder was kept burning there all night, and by its light presented to his guest a face of civil inquiry.Broughton demanded angrily where he was.Hardy informed him, and politely begged him to remain in occupation.Broughton felt for his watch, and having found it looked at it stupidly."Half-past one," said he thickly.Hardy, aware that the hour was nearer three, guessed that the watch had stopped for want of winding, but was careful not to say so.He stood for an instant or two watching his enemy, who was moving restlessly and aimlessly about the room. It would be terrible if Broughton were to remain awake."Will you not drink another glass of wine?" he said at last. "Perhaps that would help you to sleep."Broughton readily assenting, his perfidious host fetched from the next room a tumbler of port, into which he had put a generous dash of brandy.Ten minutes later Broughton was again supine and snoring.Hardy then began to move quietly about the room, collecting necessaries for his journey.From a locked drawer he took a sufficient supply of guineas and a flat box of a shape familiar at that period to every gentleman. Having drawn out of this receptacle and transferred to his pockets a pair of pistols, he replaced the box, locked the drawer, and having taken away the lantern turned the key once more upon the sleeper.During the next couple of hours, Hardy dozed uneasily, and at every wakeful interval listened for sounds from the next room. But no sounds came, and when, at half-past five, he drew back the curtains, and, looking out, beheld the water-gate at the end of the street blushing in a rosy dawn, all was still silent.Returning to the table, he took a sheet of paper and wrote a polite letter:DEAR SIR,—I am obliged, as you will, no doubt, remember I told you last night, to go out of town to-day, and must therefore express in writing my hope that you will find yourself, on awakening, completely recovered from your slight indisposition. Pray order in my name whatever may be agreeable to you. You will, I hope, breakfast here, and obligeYour humble servant,G. HARDY.This impudent epistle he read over with a smile, sealed and directed it, and left it lying conspicuously in the centre of his table. Then, still smiling, he unlocked the door behind which Mr. Broughton slumbered, took his hat, sword and cloak, descended the stair, let himself out of the house, and made his way, without a scruple, towards Dean Street, Soho.XIIIDEAN STREET, inhabited in those days by prosperous persons, lay clean and cheerful beneath the sun of the early September morning. Light breezes blew and a pleasant touch of freshness was in the air. The line of the thoroughfare, when Hardy entered from the south, showed vacant of any chaise. He slackened his pace, walked sedately to the upper end, and turned. The street was still empty, Hardy stood still and his face lengthened. Perhaps there was no chaise after all; perhaps he had merely listened to the vinous swagger of a vapouring braggart. A distinct chagrin descended upon him; he became aware that it was not with dread but with something very near to delight that he had contemplated this adventure.The first stroke of six chimed from St. Anne's Church, and Hardy began to entertain chill anticipations of returning home, tearing up his letter and arousing his guest. But, as the last chime died out upon the morning air, a chaise came swinging round the corner from Old Compton Street. Hardy, advancing eagerly to meet it, made a sign to the postilion.The chaise drew up."Good morning," said Hardy, in the tone that he would have used to a private of his regiment."Good morning, sir," returned the man."Turn your horses at once," said Hardy; "we are a minute late already. No—don't get down; I'll open the door for myself."The postilion, who probably had never seen the intending traveller, made no demur. Hardy stepped in, and Mr. Broughton's chaise began its southward journey.Over Westminister Bridge—comparatively new and still fairly white—and through the pleasant villages of Brixton, Clapham and Streatham was Hardy conveyed in the increasing warmth and sunniness of a most agreeable morning. To travel on wheels was not, indeed, a thing congenial to his tastes; but the thought that this was Broughton's chaise imparted a savour to his progress.For the first few miles he troubled himself little with consideration of what he should do next. To have foiled the enemy appeared for the moment enough. But by-and-by, when he saw before him the long descent of Streatham Hill and remembered that at Croydon he must part from his present vehicle and decide upon some further course he began to reflect deeply.It was possible that Broughton, finding himself too late, would abandon his enterprise altogether. In that case this little jaunt to Croydon would have been superfluous. Or, perhaps—and this appeared the more probable event—Broughton would hurriedly procure chaise or horse and follow with the utmost speed. Even so, he might be too late to carry out his plot to-day. Would he, in that case, attempt it to-morrow? To-morrow, no doubt, Dr. King would be at home again, and this story could be poured into his discreet ear. Our knight-errant disliked immeasurably the idea of sending to Hoatham a warning which should not prove itself justified. He felt, not unnaturally, that only a real and imminent danger could render his intervention there pardonable, and was divided between a dread of intrusion, and another dread, not fully conscious, of finding no action demanded of him. To retire from an adventure, on however excellent grounds, is always, at five-and-twenty, a matter of some reluctance—and besides——Unackowledged, in the background of his thought, lay, deepest of all, the image of Caroline, from which during several months he had steadily averted his attention, but which, as he was all the time dimly aware, had never been dislodged.The reasonable course of action became clear before him. He would alight at Croydon, send back the chaise, hire a horse to be ready whenever he might need it, and then watch from some upper window over the main street for the advent of Mr. Broughton. This would not, indeed, be an amusing manner of spending the hours, and might possibly expose him to detection by the enemy; but what better could be done?At about a quarter to eight the chaise drew up beneath that signboard, portraying a giant hound on a green field, that used to impend over the High Street of Croydon. Hardy dismissed his chaise, fee'd his postboy, walked into the Greyhound and ordered breakfast and a barber.He was shown into a square front parlour, where a large, buxom, slowly-moving woman of five-and-thirty or so presently appeared to lay the table. She was heavily handsome; the bands of hair under her frilled cap were black as ink, her cheeks glowed with a soft dark bloom; her leisurely hands were skilful and noiseless. Hardy, as he absently watched their movements, kept reckoning over and over again the chances of Broughton's taking this or that course.Presently, in a slow Sussex voice, she asked him: "Will you have your eggs poached, Captain Hardy, or fried?"He looked up, surprised, and met her large sleepy gaze."So you know me?""You stopped here in the spring, sir, twice. And ordered some supper one night in May, and could not eat it."That was a remembrance upon which the traveller was indisposed to linger."Do you remember all your customers so well?" he asked quickly, but carelessly."Most of 'em, sir; and besides, we knew you had been at Gibraltar. I had a cousin there.""Indeed?" said Hardy, looking at her with more interest and beginning to remember dimly that he had seen her here before, and that her name was Susan."A gunner in the artillery. He came from Rivelsfield."Hardy's face grew suddenly keen."Rivelsfield! Then perhaps you know Mr. Broughton, of Pallavere?""I know him to look at," she answered, placing the last knife and taking up her tray.Hardy suffered her to depart, but when she returned with the dish of eggs at once opened his attack."I believe," he began, "that you are a woman that can hold your tongue?""I hope so, sir," said Susan."I am waiting here to see whether Mr. Broughton goes by. If he does, I must ride after him immediately, and it is important that he should not see me. I will make it worth your while if you will keep a look-out. But, mind, there must be no mistake about it. It is no trifling matter. Can I trust you?"The gaze of the keen blue eyes and that of the lazy black ones met, and Hardy was assured."That's well. So long as I sit here, I can see for myself. When I have done breakfast we can settle the rest."Having made the meal that might have been expected of a man who had journeyed ten miles to it, and having been restored, by the aid of soap and water and a barber, to that trim condition essential to the comfort of a smart young soldier, Hardy was ushered by Susan into an arbour that adorned the garden of the Greyhound. An odd volume of the Tatler was produced for his entertainment, and with his elbows on the table of the arbour, he nodded more than once over the sprightly essays of Mr. Bickerstaffe. The tranquil hours went on undisturbed; the scent of growing mint came in billows on the warm air; a big sunflower opposite waved and nodded slowly, and bees were continually astir around the purple blossoms of Michaelmas daisies.Suddenly, about twelve o'clock, came Susan with the news that the Brighton coach had just drawn up and that Mr. Broughton was sitting outside it. In the same moment a blast of the coach-horn sounded full and clear, a clatter of hoofs accompanying.Hardy threw a glance of gratitude at Susan, dropped into her hand a half-guinea, and took the long garden at three strides. Susan, as she paused to pick up the Tatler, heard his voice ring out a call for the ostler; and in another five minutes he was careering through the south-eastern parts of Croydon at a pace that threatened the lives and limbs of its citizens. He did not dare to keep to the high road, lest Broughton should perceive and recognise him, but took a lane that ran out nearly parallel from the side of Duppas Hill, and presently coming to open country, he gained occasional glimpses of the coach bowling along the Brighton road, and once caught a distant echo of its horn.Broughton, he told himself, would quit the coach at Redhill, and would thence diverge by way of Camersham, Storthing and New Burling. It was scarcely possible that he should reach Pallavere much before six o'clock, and with good luck Hardy himself might hope to reach High Broom Castle a quarter of an hour or so earlier—just in time, but no more than just in time, to get reinforcements sent over to Hoatham. He saw himself mounted on a fresh horse, riding shoulder to shoulder with Lord Pevensey, arriving at Hoatham, meeting Caroline's eyes and seeing displeasure dissolved into gratitude.He rode on and on through the September afternoon, snatching a hasty and inadequate repast while he changed horses. And just before Camersham, in a cross-country road with which he was not familiar, a misfortune befell him: he was misdirected, over-shot the bridge, and, in going down the river to seek another crossing-place, lost nearly three-quarters of an hour.No chance now of High Broom Castle; the only hope now was to push on straight to Hoatham and thank Heaven if he arrived early enough to snatch Caroline away before the invasion of Broughton's troop. Fugitive visions danced before his eyes of a crowd of men assembled in the Hoatham gardens, of torches and struggles, and his own sword against Broughton's.At Storthing he was obliged to take a fresh horse—another five minutes lost—and the sun was already near the horizon when he approached Old Burling and struck across the familiar fields to avoid the village street.He came to the gates of Hoatham, passed through and tied up his horse. There were no unusual sounds. Here at this side gate everything was peaceful."I am in time; surely I must be in time," he said to himself.As he stepped noiselessly along the grass edging, his mind glanced sideways at the remembrance that he had done the same on the morning of May Day. His reluctance and his shrinkings were all melted away. He thought of nothing but of carrying Caroline out of danger, and behind his conscious thoughts was a warmth as of wine because he was going into her presence.XIVCAROLINE was seated peacefully in her drawing-room writing to her cousin Anne. The room was very still, and the sky beyond the windows was reddening towards sunset.All at once a rapid unrecognised step came flying up the stair, and before she had time to frame a completed conjecture Gilbert Hardy stood before her.He was hot, dusty, and breathing hard. He had the air of a man pursued.Caroline, too much arrested by surprise to feel in the first moment the resentment that would assuredly come shortly, stared in blank amaze."Miss Dalyngrange," cried he eagerly, yet in a subdued voice, "I come to warn you of a great danger. Broughton has heard of your approaching marriage. He has a design to carry you off. He has engaged a gang of smugglers to attack this house to-night and hopes to effect his purpose in the confusion."Caroline had risen slowly to her feet and was confronting him with a stern countenance and scathing eyes. Her tongue was silent, but accusing suspicions spoke in her face, and Hardy read and answered them."You will not believe me, and that disbelief will be your destruction. Oh, now indeed I am punished!"Her lips stirred in a faint quiver, but her eyes still questioned and still were full of doubt and hostility."And what," she asked, "would you have me do?""Mount before me and let me carry you to High Broom Castle."Caroline threw up her head."You must believe me credulous indeed, Captain Hardy. Nay, I will warn the servants to close up and bar the house, and you, if you are in earnest, may go and send help to us."She turned towards the long embroidered bell-pull."No, not that!" cried Hardy, and caught her wrist.Even amid her indignation at the touch, she remarked at what a gallop his pulses were running.He went on, hurriedly, but in a voice still hushed: "He tells me that some of the servants are in his pay.""He tells you?" she interjected.At that Hardy swiftly and deeply blushed."He dared to think that I would help him—the hound!"His voice changed again."He thought of me as you do. But that is not the matter. He says that Mrs. Duncombe is away at the Rectory. Is that true?"She nodded."You see, he has his spies. What can I say to convince you? Indeed, Miss Dalyngrange, I am not as base as you believe me. I never justified myself, but not all the ill you thought of me was true.""I know it," she answered, "and I regret——""Oh, what matters the past?" he interrupted impatiently. "Trust me now for a single hour, and let me save you. Nay, if you do not know me, you know Broughton. Surely my hands are cleaner than his!"He threw them out as he spoke with a gesture half of despair, half of appeal; and a memory went through her of that beat of hot blood against her wrist. Again her gaze scanned his face for an answer to her doubts. She met a look of profound, of almost agonised entreaty, and all at once a barrier seemed to break within her and a taste of tears was in her throat."I will come," she said. "If you could be so base as to deceive me you will wrong yourself more than me."Hardy made no answering protestation; but a look of vast relief came over his face and the ordinary notes returned to his voice."I would tell you to leave a note for Mrs. Duncombe," said he, "but it would never do for it to come into Mr. Broughton's hands."She mused one moment, looked round the room and said: "I am ready.""Come, then," said Hardy, "and for Heaven's sake, step softly on the stairs."She led him not by the main staircase, but along a corridor—speeding quickly and holding in her hooped skirt with both hands lest it should rustle—then by a narrow stair down to a green garden-door with a single pane of glass in it. Deep in the house rose a sound of voices from the servants' supper table.Cautiously she opened the door, revealing the garden beyond in a glow of red sunset, cautiously she closed it behind them and noiselessly dropped the latch.In two minutes they were in a thickly hedged walk hidden from the windows. By a bushy clump of laurels Hardy paused."You cannot ride in your hoop," said he, "if you take it off here, you can hide it in these bushes."He walked forward, and in a few moments she rejoined him, a slender figure, holding up in both hands the folds of a gown that, in its undistended state, was too long for convenient walking."My horse is tied up a few yards within the gate," Hardy informed her; and again they walked on in silence. All about them was a great commotion of roosting birds; their path seemed to lead straight into the glory of the sunset.They came to the horse, a tall chestnut, with eyes that showed the whites, and quivering ears. A riding-cloak lay across its back.Caroline all this time had spoken no single word.Hardy hastily folded and rearranged the cloak, mounted with the easy swing of a man at home in the saddle, twisted the reins round his arm, and stooping over, stretched down his hands to take hers.Still silent, Caroline set her foot on his, and felt herself lifted strongly to an unexpected height and a position somewhat precarious. The precariousness was but momentary; Hardy, intent upon the business in hand, and not, apparently, at all embarrassed by its novelty, shifted her unceremoniously but gently into another and securer station. Her right cheek was now within an inch or two of her cavalier's left shoulder: behind her passed his left arm; her right foot rested just above the bend of his knee. Somewhere in the background of her mind was a vast amazement at this incredible conjunction; but the self that was fully awake and conscious accepted everything as it came, experienced a sense of perfect bodily security, then the keen bodily exhilaration of rapid motion and the eager delight that young courage tastes in moments of danger, adventure and uncertainty.She spoke but once, in the first few minutes, to say: "Will you not take the bridle-path?""I intended it," he answered.The sun sank; the glow died out of the sky; the chestnut swung forward at a long stride between the darkening borders of the narrow bridle-path. They met no one; the birds were all still, but at intervals came from the distance the lowing of a cow. All outer life had dropped away; they three, the horse, the man and she, made up the universe.This happy stage was, however, but a short one. All at once there was a jarring shock; the earth rocked and reeled. Caroline felt herself on the verge of going over the chestnut's head, and clasped her arms instinctively round her companion's body. He at the same moment had caught her firmly, and for two or three tumultuous breaths they clung together while their steed swayed and plunged beneath them."He must have set foot in a hole," said Hardy. "Let us hope he is not lamed."Then, as the animal's terrors began to abate, and it stood now merely trembling, he continued:"Let me help you down. I must lead him for a bit and make sure whether he has hurt himself. So—rest there for a moment; now spring forward and let me swing you clear of his legs. Well done! "In an instant he was beside her on the road. They advanced slowly for a few yards, and the uneven hoof-beats told their story to Caroline's ear before her companion uttered it."Yes, the poor beast is lame.—Steady, lad, steady! Yes, the off foreleg—he winces as I touch it. Sprained, most likely."Caroline laid a caressing hand upon the animal's neck and spoke a few compassionate words in a tone of tenderness that Hardy had never before heard from her."What is to be done now?" said he."If we cannot ride, we must walk," said Caroline."Ay, but in half an hour the moon will be up, and if Broughton should take a fancy to pursue you, believing you, as he must, to be gone alone, he will assuredly overtake us. It must be five miles full to the Castle.""Yes.""And your shoes, I saw, were of satin.""Yes.""And if we arrived there safely, we should find all shut up and some difficulty to get admitted.""Very likely; but what else can be done?"Hardy stood for a minute or two in silent meditation. The adventure seemed likely to take a shape extremely propitious for scandalmongers. Moreover Caroline might, not unreasonably, suspect him of having schemed to that very end, and might choose rather to throw herself into any perils than spend the next few hours in his guardianship. It was a crisis demanding the utmost address; and had the stake been anything less than Caroline's safety he might have felt a frank enjoyment in adroit play."Miss Dalyngrange," he said gravely, at last, "I will do precisely whatever you choose to command. I am simply, to-night, your servant. But let me tell you my thoughts of all this. There are two dangers for you. One, and infinitely the greater, is that of falling into the hands of Broughton. The other is the scandal that may be made over your flight to-night—and that scandal will be much the greater if it comes to be known that I was your companion. From my lips that shall never be known—never, though my life depended on it. To go far before daylight is almost impossible. I can think of no house within a mile where you could be sure of safety. But there are the Priory ruins——"She drew a quick breath."Nay, let me finish. There is that upper room, which has even a door to it. There you could be safe, and there no one would dream of seeking you. I would keep guard below till daylight.—Hush!"She listened; there was a distant sound of feet and voices."Quick!" whispered Hardy. "Let me force a way for you through the hedge. Here! 'Tis not thorny here. These may be Broughton's crew. Crouch down on the other side."He was thrusting aside and rending the branches of the hedge as he spoke.Caroline struggled half-way through."But you?" she said, pausing."I am in no danger unless in your company. So; are you safely through?""Yes; here is a bank and a ditch, but dry. I will keep perfectly still."From her hiding-place she heard him turn the limping horse and make a few slow steps in the direction from which they had come.Then came a sound of feet, of hoofs, of voices, a flicker of lantern-light above the dark line of the hedge, a parley. Rough voices were demanding of Hardy who he was and where he was going.He answered, using the same Sussex intonation as his questioners, that he was on his way to fetch Dr. Grantham to the innkeeper at Storthing, who had fallen down in a fit, and that the innkeeper's horse had gone lame on his hands."Fetch the lantern here, mate," cried a voice: "I do know Mas' Welfare's nag."Caroline, in her ditch, clasped her hands in dread, but, to her surprise, the same voice proceeded: "Ay, sure, 't be Mas' Welfare's nag, right enoo. Well, measter, us be a-goin' by doctor's, an' us'll tell 'un. Us'll go quicker nor you.""Thank you kindly," said Hardy; and from the tone of the answering "Thank you, sir," she inferred that he had spoken in coin as well as in words.Then the crowding footsteps passed on—she judged the band to be about fifteen strong —and behind followed slowly Hardy's step and the irregular hoof-fall of the lame horse.Presently, when the other sounds had passed well out of hearing, she began to hear Hardy returning. Close to her place of hiding, he paused and softly called her."I am here.""Can you walk on, on that side, to the gate?""Yes."He heard the rustle of her dress as she ascended to the farther bank; but on the grass above her feet made no sound, and more than once, as they advanced, he asked: "Are you there?"She, as she walked on, was reflecting that this irruption of strangers under cover of darkness confirmed his story. By the time they met at the gate she had determined to accept his suggestion, and, characteristically, she told him so on the instant, not pausing for words of remark upon the intervening incident."I believe you are right, Captain Hardy, and that I can do nothing better than go to the Priory. You are making me,"she added, "very much your debtor.""Nay, I should have wronged myself, as you said just now, if I had failed to do my best. And perhaps my chance lie may do us good service. If you do not fear to be left alone for half an hour, I could intercept Dr. Grantham on the Rivelsfield road, send him to you and ride his horse myself to the castle. It would, I confess, be a gratifying thing to me if Broughton could be taken in the act.""Yes," said Caroline, in no dissentient tone; "but unfortunately Dr. Grantham is not at home. He told Mrs. King that he had to attend a case on the other side of New Burling.""In that case we must even do our best for the night in the ruins. Mas' Welfare's nag I will tie up here in the meadow."He withdrew from the horse's furniture a pair of pistols, flung his folded cloak over his shoulder and twisted the reins round the stem of a small tree."Now take my arm, lest the same misfortune should happen to you, and we will strike across the meadow to the other gate. Ten minutes should bring us to our haven."This sanguine estimate was considerably  exceeded, for the sky was dark, the path uncertain, and the ground by no means level. At last, however, the wanderers came to the ruins and passed through the gap in the enclosing wall."Welcome, Miss Dalyngrange," said Hardy cheerfully, "to Upfield Priory."Caroline found herself unable to respond. The memory of a previous day when they had met here assailed her with horrible vividness. That she should return hither with her hand upon his arm was a conjuncture that no spoken word could fit. Did he so easily forget, and had a man the happy power of living in the present only?She heard him saying, in a voice quite undisturbed, that it would scarce be safe to try and go up until the moon rose, and that they had best sit on the steps and wait.In silent docility she suffered him to lead her across. It was all like a dream, but like a dream familiar beforehand, in which the strangest step yet seems natural—a gleam, as it were, from some half-forgotten existence.XVTHE adventurers were seated on the worn stone steps of the old Priory, she a little above, he a little below, and both silent. The remembrance of former relations, standing between them like a barrier, rendered speech no easy matter. The burden of her gratitude, however, presently impelled Caroline to words."Captain Hardy," said she, "let me tell you that I know how great an injustice I did you.""Pray do not speak of it," he said quickly. "It is a matter upon which my thoughts do not dwell. Nothing is more useless than to turn back to things past."Caroline felt herself unforgiven, and sat in the darkness, chilled and mortified."Believe at least in my good wishes," said Hardy, after a moment. "You are making the marriage that all your friends most desire for you, and my hopes for your happiness will go honestly with theirs."She made a murmur of thanks. A strange impulse was upon her to weep, and had to be sternly resisted.It was Hardy who next broke the silence. He began to tell her that he had remarked a haystack at an inconsiderable distance, and designed, when he had seen her safe in the upper room, to go and rob her tenant for her benefit.Calling up her spirits, she returned a gay reply and showed a cheerful countenance to the red, rising moon.Very soon there was light enough to make the ascent safe. Even the shadowy upper chamber was not quite dark; luminous shafts fell from its narrow loopholes, and a broken corner of the roof, where as yet only a dark blue patch of sky showed through, promised fuller light by-and-by. The door was solidly hinged, and was furnished with staples, but these were on the outer side."No doubt we can find a stone to wedge it," said Hardy, and going down again, soon returned with a suitable fragment.He next drew forth a pistol and laid it carefully upon the sill of a loophole."Here you have a weapon if need be. Now I will go for the hay. Fasten your door behind me and do not open it until I come back and speak my name. You had best take the cloak, which would only hamper me. I will be as quick as I can.""Nay, why go at all? I can do well enough without hay."He shook his head, and begged to assure her, on the word of a soldier, that she could not sleep on the bare stone floor.He went out, pulling to the door. She wedged it, heard it pushed and shaken and saw it hold firm."That is well," said the voice from outside, and his steps were heard descending.She turned her own towards one of the loopholes and wrapping herself in the riding-cloak, rested against the recess. A narrow strip of sky, crossed by the dark outline of a leafy twig, formed her sole prospect, nor was the range of her thoughts much wider. Hardy occupied them wholly. The atmosphere of his presence—of which she was always so acutely aware—had begun to encircle her again with all the old sense of ease and completion. A warm tide of emotion rose within her; her gratitude was a pleasant element—she longed to look him in the face and pour out her thanks. The tones of his voice rang in her ears; for the moment her old grudge was all forgotten, and she rested in perfect content against the cold wall of the Priory, happy because Hardy had brought her here, and was coming back to her.By-and-by she heard a step upon the stairs; once more the door was shaken and her champion announced himself.She drew out the stone and opened her door.There, in a bright space of moonlight, stood Hardy, with a bulky truss of hay upon his shoulder and a gay smile upon his lips.The outpourings of gratitude that had been so near to Caroline's ran suddenly backward upon her heart. What did Captain Hardy want with her thanks or her feelings? Had he not made it clear enough that he was helping her not for her sake but at the bidding of his own self-respect? Had he returned wearing a face of sadness and humility, her every word and look would have breathed apology and admiration; but there he stood, smiling indifference—nay rather, triumph. And, indeed, his triumph was complete. She, who had so openly reviled and rejected him, was dependent on him to-night not only for help in a grave peril, but even for the smallest comforts of life—for shelter and for warmth. A momentary impulse was upon her to cast his cloak from her shoulders and to go out alone into the woods sooner than endure the scorching of these coals of fire.Hardy, who, in fact, was inspired by no such subtleties of emotion, but was simply and plainly gratified by the success of his marauding expedition, paused on the threshold."You look very pale," said he. "Are you cold?""No, nor yet frightened—which, I think, is what you mean," she found herself replying, in a tone as easy as his smile."I wish I could have brought you something to eat, but I dared not risk that.""Indeed I am not hungry. But perhaps you are?""I cannot deny it," he answered lightly, as he busied himself in spreading and arranging the hay."There; you will have no such ill bed, and if you are as courageous as I think, you will sleep soundly. You may trust your sentinel's wakefulness.""No, no; you must not keep awake. There is no necessity.""I hope not, but I shall mount guard, all the same, in company with my old friend the moon.""At least you will take your cloak.""Yes; that I will, for you will not be cold, and there will come a chill at dawn, if not sooner. So good night, Miss Dalyngrange, and good repose.""Good night, Captain Hardy. I shall lie down feeling as well guarded as in my own house."She held out her hand, but he did not take it.At the door he paused and said, " I shall be within call."The door closed between them; she stood leaning her cheek against its planks and listening to the retreating step. Her resentment had once more died away, and the sound was friendly in her ears.Then she turned to the couch of hay spread for her in the darkest corner, and laid herself down, resolved to fulfil the prophecy that if she were courageous she would sleep. And sleep she did; but by-and-by awakened suddenly.The moon in its circuit had found out the hole in the roof and was staring her in the face. After a moment of bewilderment she remembered where she was and lay gazing up at the moon—Hardy's 'old friend' that had looked down upon the guardians of Gibraltar, and was looking now upon a sentinel guarding her own slumbers. Presently, as the bright illumination passed from before the gap, her eyes closed again and she slept, as she had promised to sleep, in a full sense of security.Dawn, and the notes of many birds, put an end to her repose. The incredible night was over, and here was the new day that would presently set life on its natural round again.She sprang up, shook off the clinging hay, smoothed down her ruffled hair and opened her door.The ruins lay before her, in a clear cold light, the grey of the stones very grey, the greens of leaf and turf extremely green. But no Hardy was visible. An extraordinary stillness rested upon everything. Was it conceivable that her sentinel had deserted his post? Or had he, having watched till daylight, considered his task ended, and departed without a word? It seemed unlikely—yet, where was he?While she stood, thus wondering, the face of the world changed: warmth breathed through the chill light; leaf, stick and stone began to glow, and the austere sky broke into smiles. Every drop of dew became a gem, and the flat surfaces, laid out like a map, began to put on shadows and edges and to soften into shape. Caroline stood, contemplating the miracle and breathing in the buoy-ant morning air, when a sound of movement came to her. She threw up her head, listening as a stag listens on a hillside.A footstep was approaching. She thought of retreating, remembered the pistol close at hand, and then, as the step came to the line of flagstones, recognised it for Hardy's.He came across the green enclosure, gay and alert under the morning sunshine, a yellow pitcher in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other; and as Caroline looked at him an answering smile came unconsciously to her lips.She descended towards him."Good morning!" cried he. "Did you sleep well?""Very well indeed," Caroline answered cordially.As they met, he set down the jug upon the stones. There was a cup in the mouth of it."I have milked a cow," he announced, in a tone of grave triumph which set Caroline unexpectedly laughing.He looked at her with a momentary surprise."And now, if you will come round by the stones—the grass is too wet—we may eat and drink comfortably, sitting in the sunshine."Thus, at something before six of a September morning, Miss Dalyngrange found herself sitting among the ruins of Upfield Priory, while Captain Hardy, with an air of finding the position perfectly natural, lay at her feet, the pair of them eating dry bread cut with his pocket-knife and drinking warm milk from the same cup.It was truly an amazing idyll, and the birds, if they had not been so foolishly engrossed in their own trivial affairs, might have carried strange reports."How soon will it be easy for you to get into your own house? " Hardy asked, by-and-by."My house?" she echoed vaguely.Her mind, turned firmly towards High Broom Castle, had not yet taken another direction."Surely you will scarce still desire to go on to the Castle? These rascals will certainly be all gone before daylight, and it is unnecessary to spread the tale of your absence beyond your own household.""I have no mind to conceal it from any one," she returned proudly.Hardy looked down with a grave face into the grass, and she was left to wonder what thoughts were in his mind.Then, looking up, still grave, he surprised her by the question, "Have I served you well in this odd expedition?""Better than can ever be repaid.""Then give me the only acknowledgment I shall ever seek—your promise to keep silence about this adventure as long as I keep silence.""Do not ask me that, Captain Hardy. Why should I hide from others anything that one person knows of me?""You would rather let tittle-tattle do its worst than feel yourself in my power?. Well, perhaps I may have deserved that; but have you a mind to punish me anew for having tried to serve you? ""What do you mean?""I mean, Miss Dalyngrange, that this tale, told as malice will be ready enough to tell it, will show me in the light of a singularly black and calculating scoundrel, planning to serve both my revenge and my fortune by gaining a hold on your reputation and leaving you no choice but to marry me. That is what I mean, and what would be said. Perhaps that is in your thoughts of me. But it is false. I tell you, face to face, there is no power on earth could force me to that marriage—no, not though you yourself should offer it.""It is not what I think of you," said Caroline, and at first could say no more. Then, commanding her voice, she went on: "There is only one person to whom I must tell all this.""Lord Pevensey?" said he, and looked at her with troubled eyes, in which she read an appeal."All that has happened to me; not what you have said to me now."He drew a long breath."Lord Pevensey," said he, with a struggle after his usual easy tone, "will tell you that I am right in desiring silence; and ten years hence you will acknowledge it yourself— unless you are wise enough to have forgotten the whole affair, as I shall try to do.""I shall never forget it," said Caroline. "I give you my promise, because you ask it. But, if I had my will, I would rather go out into the high roads and cry out, 'There is one man generous enough to repay insults by benefits, one man that can serve a woman hour after hour without a look to remind her that she is a woman, and his name——'""Hush! " cried Hardy, hoarsely, and dropped his face among the folds of the cloak on the ground.Caroline sat aghast, full of horrified self-reproach, and beset by a wild temptation, resisted with difficulty, to lay her hand on the curls, sadly rumpled since the ministrations yesterday of the Croydon barber, that were beginning to shine in their natural brightness through a diminished cloud of powder. Perhaps, if she had yielded, her story might have been simplified, for Hardy's self-command was strained nearly to the breaking point. Within four-and-twenty hours there would have been a noble bridegroom jilted; within a week the descent upon Hoatham of a highly expostulant guardian; and in a month or two, a wedding in Old Burling Church.But she refrained; and instead of raptures, there was a pause of horrible embarrassment.Hardy sat up, sharply, presenting a face of whose extreme pallor he was probably unconscious."It appears," said he, with a forced laugh, "that I am more of a fool, still, than I supposed."He rose to his feet."Here ends our strange chapter, Miss Dalyngrange. I will follow you to the gate of the meadow, and as soon as I have taken Master Welfare's nag to some neighbouring stable I will set out on my return to London. Good-bye."Caroline stood facing him, a dark foreboding weighing down her heart that this farewell was meant to be final."Good-bye," said she, and offered her hand.He accepted it this morning quite calmly, and while it still lay in his loose and passive clasp, she added in a lower and appealing tone: "For the future, we may be friends?"Hardy looked at her, a little humorously, and slightly shook his head."Hardly that, I am afraid. But I am glad that you no longer think ill of me. As for me, I never succeeded in thinking ill of you, though I tried my best."He raised her hand, kissed it with the ceremonious coolness of a stranger, and with a smile, bowed to her as she slowly turned away.An hour later he was still sitting among the ruins, his elbow on his knee, his chin on his hand, and the needs of Master Welfare's nag forgotten.XVICAROLINE walked into her own garden feeling like some personage of mediæval legend, for whom a century has elapsed between sunset and sunrise. All the values of life were changed, and the leading part was filled by a new actor.The house and garden bore marks of disturbance; the terrace was a good deal trampled; panes were broken in the lower windows, and at the front door knelt a housemaid, busily washing a much-defiled doorstep. At sight of Caroline this young woman broke into exclamations, and springing up ran into the house, crying: "Ma'am! Ma'am! Miss has come home! "Mrs. Duncombe came to the door of the morning-room and caught the approaching Caroline in her arms."My dear child! How thankful I am! Where have you been? What has happened to you?""No harm, I assure you," said Caroline, and led her back into the morning-room, where the good lady, scanning her pupil from head to foot, began to shed tears.Indeed, Caroline's exterior was a good deal dishevelled. Her skirt hung limply round her, and shreds of hay clung to its hem; her shoes were torn, and the elaborate edifice of her hair all flattened and disordered.She called up a smile and uttered a word or two of consolation; then a happy idea occurred."I am hungry," said she. "I should be glad of a cup of chocolate and a muffin."The device succeeded; Mrs. Duncombe, much comforted by so material a demand, rang the bell and gave the order."But tell me, my dear, tell me what has happened.""I am afraid," said Caroline slowly, "that I can tell you only very little. I have promised not to reveal, except to Lord Pevensey, who it was that warned me and where it was that I was hidden."Mrs. Duncombe broke in with an exclamation; but Caroline, proceeding, related in general terms how she had received warning of Mr. Broughton's designs and how, believing herself in danger, she had set out for High Broom Castle."Alone—at night—on foot! " cried Mrs. Duncombe, wringing her hands."No—not alone," said Caroline, growing reluctant, and pausing."Then you have been at the Castle? Surely not? ""No—but I have been quite safe. You must not ask me. I have promised not to say where.""But, Caroline! What will people think? What are we to answer to inquiries? You have been away from your house a whole night and will not say where! You have not considered, my dear child, how impossible is such concealment."Caroline reddened."It is not I, ma'am, who desire any concealment, but I was under deep obligations; I could do no less than give my promise when it was asked for. I shall tell the whole to Lord Pevensey."Mrs. Duncombe was not to be so easily pacified."My dear Caroline," said she, very seriously, "a young lady must not be known to have secrets of this kind. You cannot have reflected upon the light in which evil-minded persons may construe such silence. A young woman to disappear alone and at dark, to be absent all night, and to offer no explanation! You cannot mean it."Caroline began to perceive that Hardy had not been unreasonable in his apprehensions. The position ruffled her exceedingly. Happily, she said to herself, Lord Pevensey would understand, and would see things in their true light.In this comforting conviction she spoke."I believe," said she, "that Lord Pevensey will be perfectly satisfied. I am not at liberty to enter into any explanation to any other person, not even to you. Pray tell me what has happened here in my absence."This narrative was much longer and more circumstantial than her own.A group of masked men, estimated variously as numbering from fifteen to fifty, had come to the house demanding to be let in and to receive food and drink. Thomas, from a first-floor window, had defied them and threatened to shoot among them unless they retired; but, either by treachery or by fraud, they had obtained ingress at the back, had plundered the larder, drunk and wasted much ale and broken a good deal of crockery. A few had made their way to the upper rooms and had pilfered—it was difficult to be sure yet to how great an extent.Then Mr. Broughton had appeared. Thomas believed that he had been with the besiegers from the beginning, but his own tale was that he had followed to protect the ladies, and was anxious to conduct them to a place of safety."Then, my dear, Thomas began to think it strange that you had neither appeared nor given any orders. He sent Dorcas to seek you, and you could not be found. Mr. Broughton, I understand, was beside himself, and made use, Dorcas tells me, of the most shocking imprecations. Thomas very prudently had sent the gardener's boy for assistance at the very first minute, and Mr. Attaway and his sons and a party of his men set out almost at once. The runners, if runners they were, getting word of this, made off in twos and threes, and by the time our friends arrived there was nobody left. Mr. Broughton, it seems, called at several houses in the village asking for you, and told everybody that Hoatham House was on fire and Miss Dalyngrange lost. Dorcas had, very properly, run down to me; I left her to take care of Mrs. King and came home instantly. My own fear, I confess, was that Mr. Broughton himself had conveyed you away. I hear that he insisted upon searching every room in the house. His conduct seems really to be that of a madman."Caroline sat for a moment or two in silence, reflecting with some displeasure that her absence must have become known to all Old Burling. She asked whether word had been sent to Lord Pevensey."I sent Thomas at five this morning. I did not choose to send a younger and less discreet person.""You were very wise, as you always are," said Caroline.She rose and rang the bell."I will go to my room and will beg you to send Dorcas to me. My appearance, I am sure, must be shocking."Her familiar room, when she ascended to it, had become a mere empty frame. She glanced round it with distaste. The whole house, indeed, seemed to her profaned since she had heard that Broughton had visited its every room.The perfect conventionality of Dorcas, however, was soothing. In Dorcas's presence it became agreeably impossible to believe that strange events had occurred, or that the smooth stream of life could ever be deflected. With something like content Caroline presently found herself sitting passive beneath Dorcas's skilful hair-brush; the old routine of every day began to mount gently round her like a tide.Through the morning stillness came the sound of a couple of horses galloping up the avenue, and a minute later Mrs. Duncombe entered the dressing-room."My dear, Lord Pevensey has arrived and is asking for you. He is in the library.""I will come directly, ma'am. Pray tell his lordship I am sorry to keep him waiting. Be quick, Dorcas, with those last curls."Lord Pevensey stood in the library with his face turned anxiously towards the door. It opened, and Caroline, freshly washed, freshly brushed and freshly arrayed, presented herself—a dainty porcelain image of the most smooth and civilised completion. It was difficult to conceive that any rough experience could ever have approached this creature of the drawing-room.His eyes dwelt upon her, and his usual command of speech deserted him."I am sorry," said Caroline, "that you should have been troubled by hearing this tale from any one but myself.""You are not hurt? Not the worse for your alarms?""Not in the smallest degree. I have been in perfect safety."He murmured a word or two of thankfulness; she saw with a sort of shock how deeply he was moved."I have promised to tell the whole to nobody but you. It must remain a secret between us.""Nothing you wish unspoken will ever be spoken by me," said Lord Pevensey.He led her to a chair and seated himself by her, keeping her hand in his."Nay, it is not I who wish," protested Caroline. "But you shall hear. Mrs. Duncombe was gone, as you know, to the rectory. I was sitting in the drawing-room, after dinner, when, all at once, Captain Hardy came into the room.""Hardy!" echoed his lordship, and she felt his fingers tighten."I had not seen him since the spring—he—I had believed ill of him—I did him injustice. I had spoken very foolishly and angrily the last time we met. And now he came to warn me that Mr. Broughton had a design to make an attack on the house and carry me off.""What did you do? " asked Lord Pevensey, holding himself plainly under restraint.At first I doubted; but he assured me that he had the information from Mr. Broughton himself, who had expected that he would be willing to help, and who knew from one of the servants that Mrs. Duncombe was away. He offered to carry me to High Broom Castle, and at last he convinced me, and I went with him.""On foot?""Riding before him. But the horse set foot in a hole and was lamed, and could not go on."Lord Pevensey dropped her hand."What then?" said he, with a dark brow and a voice ominously calm. "He took you to his house?""No, nor ever suggested it. We went to the old Priory, and I remained till this morning shut into that upper room where faggots used to be stored; and Captain Hardy kept watch all night in the ruins."Lord Pevensey gave a wild exclamation of anger and sprang to his feet."Caroline! You suffered a man to do you such a service! You put yourself in his power! And you tell me so, tranquilly, with a smile."Caroline rose in her turn, blushing angrily, and quite divested of the calmness and the smile with which she was reproached."Perhaps you would rather I had waited for Mr. Broughton," said she.Her attitude, her voice, the smouldering fire in her eyes, reminded him that his bird was not yet in her cage and that birds uncaged can fly. He made a great effort to check his own vehemence, but succeeded only partially."You do me injustice, Caroline. Would you have me hear with indifference that your reputation was at the mercy of another man's careless speech?""It is you," returned Caroline, "who do injustice to Captain Hardy. You yourself could not have been more delicate, more considerate. And this morning, before we parted, he made me promise that I would tell only to you where I had been and with whom, and offered me his own promise that he would not make these things known.""He, at least,"said Lord Pevensey bitterly, "recognised the gravity of the case."Caroline, in a lofty tone, continued: "I disliked to take the promise. I do not wish to conceal my acts. But he said that you would tell me he was right.""I do tell you so. He was quite right," said Lord Pevensey, with emphasis.He paused, called up all his powers of self-command, and continued with external calmness and with a most creditable endeavour to speak justly:"I have always thought well of Captain Hardy, and I do not doubt that his promise is fully to be trusted. But you must not ask me to be pleased that our peace and comfort should lie at the mercy of his discretion or his generosity.""It would be nobler to remember," said Caroline, "that but for him they would have lain at Mr. Broughton's.""I do not forget it, and you may be sure that when I see Captain Hardy I shall utter nothing but gratitude. The obligation is uneasy to me and the manner of conferring it was imprudent,—but it exists, nevertheless, and is great.""And I behaved so ill to him," said Caroline remorsefully."Yes, and that, my dear Caroline, if you will forgive me for pointing it out, renders the position all the more delicate. The circumstance that you rejected him, with some scorn, as is generally reported, puts a particularly invidious colour upon our obligations to him; and I think you should have insisted, at all costs, upon pushing on to Mr. Attaway's."Caroline did not justify herself, but she contrasted this tone of reproof with Hardy's of deferential obedience, and pondered, perhaps, as many a woman must have done, before and since, the differences between the manner of the admirer to whom nothing has been granted and that of him who has received a promise."As for Mr.Broughton," said Lord Pevensey, "measures must be taken for punishing his outrageous behaviour. To attack a private house! To dream of carrying off a lady! It is monstrous, monstrous! ""You are not thinking—surely you would not expose your life? "He shook his head."I am sorry I had not dealt so with him earlier; but it is now too late. Mr. Broughton has put himself beyond the circle of those from whom a gentleman can demand satisfaction."He walked across the room, struggling to hold back the outburst of feelings that threatened to overflow. After a moment's pause by the window, he turned and came slowly to her side, master once more of his face and of his voice."I am infinitely thankful, my Caroline, that you suffered no harm from this ruffian; but I would give much that all this had never come about. Imagine the face of my aunt at such a story!"He had set these last words to a deliberately airy note; but Caroline displayed no responsive smile. It did not please her to veil her acts from the possible reprobation of Lady Maria; nor had Lord Pevensey's tone sounded to her really playful.Her face remained impenetrably grave, and for the first time a sense of conscious disaccord stood sharply between them. To each of them speech grew difficult, and a gap of silence accentuated the divergence.Then, with cautious gentleness, Lord Pevensey began to say that he would endeavour to see Mr. Broughton."And after having done so my next step will probably be to apply for a warrant against him. Our duty to others forbids us to sit down under such an injury as this."Caroline resisted the perverse spirit that tempted her to cavil at his solemn tone, and replied meekly, "You are no doubt the best judge."She did not succeed, however, in speaking warmly; and Lord Pevensey, after another moment of hesitation, kissed her hand and departed.Caroline, left alone, relaxed unconsciously into soft memories of last night and this morning. Again she felt herself stabbed by Hardy's sudden cry of 'Hush!' Again she lived through that catastrophic moment in which she had looked down, horrified and self-reproachful, upon his ruffled head. In remembrance, however, the moment was no longer horrible, but delicious, and gave to the world a strange new habitableness. She recalled vividly every detail of their brief intercourse, renewed the thrill awakened by his first agonised look of appeal, and tasted the silent union of their ten minutes' ride; a gush of longing rose within her for the sight of Hardy's face, for the sound of his voice. And all at once, with the sensation of having been dropped suddenly over a precipice, she understood what this meant.Strange vistas yawned. She had no clear thoughts. The image of Hardy filled the universe.But by-and-by the clouds of overwhelming emotion began to recede and the facts of her life to stand up bare around her. Her promise to Lord Pevensey faced her in hideous enormity—the product, surely, of some passing lunacy. To-day it seemed impossible even to recollect the state of blindness in which she had supposed herself inaccessible to warmer feelings. And yet by her acts committed in that state of blindness, she was bound. Her proud rectitude shrank, as from a burn, from the thought that Caroline Dalyngrange could break a promise; yet the same rectitude showed her that the utmost she was able to give to Lord Pevensey would be no real fulfilment. Neither way was perfect loyalty to Lord Pevensey possible.By degrees, however, she began to see on which side lay the more honest path. To Caroline the passive course, inculcated in her day—and perhaps still in ours—as the womanly one, seldom commended itself; and now, as she sat in ashamed meditation, it appeared a less intolerable thing to tell all the truth to Lord Pevensey than to let him go on believing of her what was false."He will be here again to-morrow, and then I will tell him," she said to herself at last.But in the afternoon came a servant bringing a note from his lordship that delayed their meeting.'I have not,' he wrote, 'succeeded in seeing Mr. Broughton. His servants declare him gone to town, and it is certain that he has set out in that direction. I have resolved therefore to follow him, the rather that I wish to wait upon Captain Hardy at the earliest opportunity. My absence will be as short as possible, and I shall hope to see you again by Tuesday at the latest.'With a most ungrateful sense of relief did Caroline peruse these lines. For three or four days, at least, here was a respite.But, a little later, Mrs. Duncombe, with looks of elation and importance, brought in a parcel of patterns just arrived from town, and was for having the wedding-gown chosen.Caroline looked with an inward shiver at the segment of white and silver brocade urged upon her attention. She grew very pale, and after a moment of silent consternation, said firmly, "I will not decide until after Lord Pevensey's return."Mrs. Duncombe, disappointed, but unable to protest against an intention so irreproachable, laid the patterns neatly together again, in silence.Pressed by this new terror, Caroline began to feel that her communication to Lord Pevensey could not await his return. She asked whether the servant from the Castle was still in the house.Mrs. Duncombe believed him to be taking refreshment in the kitchen."Then pray let him wait," said Caroline. "I will send a letter by him to his master."But when she sat face to face with her giltedged paper and her newly mended pen, the task of explaining herself to Lord Pevensey proved an impossible one. To set down in black and white that her heart was given to a man who had plainly told her that no inducement could tempt him to marry her, was not among the deeds that Miss Dalyngrange's nature permitted; and the letter she eventually sealed was by no means the letter that she had sat down to indite. Such as it was, she let it go, and then began to reproach herself with cowardice. She told herself that she was behaving basely to Lord Pevensey; and even as she shaped that thought, a curious consolation presented itself—the thought, that, after all, her love was a hopeless one, and that she was not breaking her engagement in any prospect of personal advantage. Hardy's voice rang in her ears: ' No power on earth could force me to that marriage—no, not though you yourself should offer it.' For an instant imagination pictured her as offering it, and rejected. Direct and resolute herself, she did not conceive that Hardy's declaration might possibly be revocable. Consciousness, indeed, whispered, 'He loves me,' but the whisper added only another sting. He had always loved her, it appeared, and he loved her still. Happiness had been offered her, here, in this very room, and she had rejected it. She sat staring at the spot where Hardy had stood while he heard her own cruel words, and while he uttered his own hardly less bitter answer. No man, she told herself, could ever forgive that scene. Now, she understood and repented; but it was too late—too late even to fulfil the deepest longing of her heart and tell him that her love was his. It was to Lord Pevensey that that must be told; and, courageous though she was, Caroline's heart sank within her at the anticipation.XVIITwo days later, in a wet and windy forenoon, Lord Pevensey presented himself at Hardy's lodgings, and was shown into that parlour where Broughton had once sat babbling forth threats.Hardy, who had been standing at the window contemplating rather disconsolately the rain-washed slope of Buckingham Street, turned upon his visitor precisely the guarded, observant look that he might have turned upon an adversary's second come to arrange the particulars of a duel.His lordship's errand, however, appeared to be one of amity."I am come, Captain Hardy," said he, "to express in the first place my profound gratitude for the service you rendered the other night to Miss Dalyngrange."Hardy, still a little on the defensive, replied that he had been fortunate to have the opportunity, but that he would be better pleased with himself if, instead of bungling it, he had succeeded in carrying the lady safe to High Broom Castle."Frankly, I wish you had," said Lord Pevensey. "To myself and to Miss Dalyngrange the difference matters not a jot. You and I and she are all, I hope, too sure of one another for paltry suspicions. But scandalous tongues are always ready to be busy, and I am much obliged to you for urging on Miss Dalyngrange the desirability of silence."This was handsomely said, but there was a certain suspended note in the close, as of something more to follow.Hardy scanned the face of his visitor a little sharply."Your lordship does not need, I hope, to be assured that I shall not repeat the story? ""Indeed, sir, I do not. But I must confess that I have come not only to thank you for the past but to ask your help towards the future.""I am very much at your lordship's service.""This outrage," said Lord Pevensey, speaking with very unusual warmth, cannot pass unpunished. Broughton has too long been allowed to defy the law; but this time he shall be brought to book.""I am glad to hear you say so," cried Hardy. "My own tongue has ached to call him to account, but of course I had no shadow of a right.""Nor is Mr. Broughton a man, after this, whom you or I could meet as an equal. It is to the law that he must answer. Miss Dalyngrange informs me that he communicated his purpose to you; and the service which I have come to ask is that you will repeat to me what passed between you."Hardy narrated the particulars of Broughton's visit, of his own ambush at Croydon, and of his ride to Hoatham.Lord Pevensey listened with profound attention, and at an early stage of the story remarked politely that Mr. Broughton must be a poor judge of men."Thank you, Captain Hardy. This is important testimony indeed. I have this morning seen my lawyer, and am now going to Bow Street to apply for a warrant against Mr. Broughton. Perhaps you will be so good as to accompany me?""By all means," said Hardy, and rose from his chair.Even as he did so, the door of the room opened and disclosed his landlord, who presented a face of great agitation."Sir,—Captain Hardy," stammered he, "here is a constable."Three men, who had come up behind him, pressed into the room; he who seemed to be the leader of them advanced to the table, looked from the one gentleman to the other, and decided to address himself to Lord Pevensey."Is your name Gilbert Hardy?" he asked.Simultaneously came the double reply:"I am the Earl of Pevensey.""I am Gilbert Hardy.""Holding a captain's commission in His Majesty's army?"Hardy named his regiment."I have a warrant for your apprehension.""Mine!" echoed Hardy, and was too much amazed to utter another word.Lord Pevensey demanded haughtily upon what charge.The man referred to a paper, from which, in stumbling tones, he read his reply:"On the charge of being accessory before the fact to a burglary committed at the mansion-house of Hoatham, in the parish of Old Burling, in the county of Sussex, on the night of Wednesday, the tenth day of September, in the year of our Lord 1783, and to the stealing from the said mansion-house of sundry articles to the sum of five pounds, the same being the property of Caroline Dalyngrange; and furthermore with forcibly carrying away the said Caroline Dalyngrange, against her will, with intent to marry her."The recital of Caroline's opulence, which should have followed, was cut off by Lord Pevensey's outcry of indignant protest.Hardy, on his part, stood open-mouthed —struck, for the moment, absolutely dumb by astonishment.The reader, who had continued, undisturbed, again became audible: "And, furthermore, with having, on the same tenth day of September, at night, assembled together with Reuben Gambling, Daniel Southward and others, to aid in the clandestine carrying away of prohibited and uncustomed goods, with firearms or other offensive weapons."The constable paused; and Hardy, who had quickly recovered himself, ironically inquired whether this was all."That is all, sir," said the man, quite seriously."And may I ask, sir," said Hardy quietly, and indeed with a dawning air of amusement, "upon whose information this warrant was issued? "Once more the man consulted his paper."One Mr. Bow—Broughton," said he."I thought so," said Hardy, and began to laugh immoderately."'Tis the best stroke!" cried he amid his laughter. "Who could have thought Mr. Broughton so witty? Upon my soul, I admire him!"Lord Pevensey laughed too, but shortly and with less zest. He was a man of a more highly developed self-consciousness than Hardy, and sensitive on the point of dignity."Well, gentlemen," said Hardy cheerfully, when he had made an end of laughing, "I suppose I must go with you to Bow Street? Mr. Maddox, will you be so good as to have a coach called? "The scared landlord went away to order the coach, and Lord Pevensey, with his finest air said, "You will permit me, Captain Hardy, to accompany you. Now, more than ever, is it necessary that I should apply for a warrant."Hardy said that he should be very grateful. The coach arrived: the two gentlemen and two constables stepped into it, the third mounted to the box, and the party were trundled away to Bow Street.Lord Pevensey turned to his companion. "Hardy," said he earnestly, "you have brought this enmity upon yourself by—by acts that make me, as you know, eternally your debtor. You must suffer me to be employed in this matter as your nearest friend."Hardy laid his hand willingly enough in that which was offered to him. These two men, who might so naturally have been enemies, had begun by liking each other at first sight, and even that drop of bitter jealousy of which, in the depth of his heart, each was secretly conscious, had not yet sufficed to poison their intercourse. Perhaps, indeed—for both were generous—neither liked the other the worse for feeling some exercise of magnanimity required. As their hands met, Lord Pevensey almost forgave Hardy for having played the part of knight-errant to Caroline, and Hardy almost forgave Lord Pevensey for having succeeded in his wooing."I should hope," continued Lord Pevensey, "that to a man of your standing bail will be allowed. In that case a second surety will be needed. To what friend of yours shall I go?"Hardy replied, after a moment's reflection, that, since his brother lived out of town, Colonel Bird, under whom he had served, and who was acquainted with his family, would perhaps be the fittest man for that office."I will wait upon the Colonel," said his lordship, and went on to inquire about a lawyer.As it appeared that Hardy was acquainted with none, except the attorney in Camchester who had drawn his uncle's will, Lord Pevensey suggested that one Mr. Masterton should be consulted—"the gentleman who has charge of all my affairs and who, I am sure, is worthy of your fullest confidence."Hardy would thankfully put himself into Mr. Masterton's hands."And your brother—Sir Austin Hardy, I think?—It would be well, perhaps, that I should communicate these circumstances to him.""You are very good, my lord. He lives at Holt Court, near Tring, in Hertfordshire.""He shall have word this afternoon," said Lord Pevensey, resolving inwardly to ride down himself and interview the elder brother.At Bow Street the gentlemen were ushered into a spacious but somewhat dingy apartment, where the magistrate, a florid, middle-aged gentleman, was writing at a table, while an older and shabbier man stood humbly by. Two constables lounged idly beside the door; at a smaller table in the middle distance a meek-mannered clerk sat behind a rampart of volumes; and at the farther end of the room a wooden railing marked off a little pen for prisoners. Into this retreat Hardy was inducted, while Lord Pevensey stepped, with a fine air, to the magistrate's table, where, when the shabby supplicant had been dismissed, he made himself known, and announced that he had been visiting Captain Hardy at the time of his arrest, and had indeed been on the verge of setting forth in his company to swear an information against Mr. Broughton.The magistrate raised his eyebrows, and said that he was ready to take the information of his lordship and to issue a warrant upon due cause shown; but that the charge against Captain Hardy must in any case proceed.Then he looked across at Hardy, who, with his soldierly bearing, direct gaze and composed countenance, presented very little the aspect of a malefactor."You are acquainted with the charge against you, Captain Hardy? ""The constable has read me the warrant, sir. I do not know what particulars Mr. Broughton may have alleged against me.""His statement, is. . . ." began the magistrate, shuffling to and fro the papers before him.—"Where is this statement, Mr. Dix?—Thank you. Mr. Broughton, then," proceeded he, in that monotone that marks the habit of reciting legal documents, " says that, on the evening of Tuesday last, at your lodgings in Buckingham Street, you opened to him a plot to break into the mansion-house of Hoatham, and forcibly to carry away and marry Miss Dalyngrange, a minor and an heiress, and that you desired his assistance in this scheme; that he refused it and expostulated with you, though scarce believing you serious; that you gave him wine, which he believes to have been drugged, and that, when he came to himself on Wednesday morning, he found himself still in your lodgings, but that you were gone. That he thereupon set out for Sussex, and only arrived at Hoatham to find a mob attacking the house and the lady disappeared."He paused to take a pinch of snuff, and Lord Pevensey interposed."You will permit me, sir, to remark that the lady is about to become my wife; that she left her house of her own will, having happily received notice of Mr. Broughton's design to carry her off, that she was safely concealed until the danger was over, and is now no less safely at home. Neither Miss Dalyngrange nor I entertain the smallest suspicion of Captain Hardy, nor the smallest doubt of Mr. Broughton's guilt. That I am here as Captain Hardy's friend is surely something of an answer to this monstrous accusation."The magistrate evinced some signs of interest."Indeed, my lord! The case promises to be curious; but if matters are as you say, Captain Hardy will doubtless find no difficulty in clearing himself. There is, however, a further charge."He resumed the rapid, unmodulated reading that was so difficult to follow."That of assembling with sundry other persons, of whom two, Reuben Gambling and Daniel Southward are named, to aid in the clandestine carrying away of prohibited and uncustomed goods—to wit, certain kegs of brandy and packets of cambric. It appears, Captain Hardy, that, in this matter, you were denounced to Mr. Broughton by one Edwin Tooby, a shepherd, who identifies you and Gambling and Southward.""Do you know any of these fellows, Hardy?" Lord Pevensey asked."Remember, Captain Hardy," interposed the magistrate, "that your words may be used against you.""Thank you, sir, but I have nothing to say that all the world may not hear. Yes, I know all of them. Gambling was a play-fellow of mine. Tooby and Southward are tenants of Broughton's, and it was common talk in the neighbourhood that Southward was one of those who escaped from the revenue men on the night when you and I were with them.""Your examination," said the magistrate, "will be taken at eleven o'clock on Monday morning, when I have bound over Mr. Broughton to appear. Until then I shall be compelled to commit you to Newgate; but I will first hear my lord's application for a warrant."The quill pen scratched rapidly over the blue paper as Lord Pevensey, in measured tones, detailed his accusation.Hardy was brought from behind the barrier to add his testimony; and the magistrate so far forgot his judicial repose as to remark twice over: "This is a very strange tale, gentlemen, a very strange tale indeed."Having drawn out a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Broughton, he observed that it would be perhaps most easily executed at the close of Monday's hearing, and politely wished the pair "Good-day."A coach was called to convey the accused to Newgate; the young men parted, with cheerful smiles; then Hardy sank back with a grave face into his coach, and Lord Pevensey with a grave face departed to seek Colonel Bird.XVIIIHARDY sat in Newgate, solitary and rueful, his feelings more offended than he could have believed possible by the placing of irons upon his limbs, and his mind compelled, in the uncongenial element of inaction, to contemplate the unpleasing alternatives presented by his future. He could not but perceive that, if he succeeded in concealing the night among the ruins, he might not improbably come to be transported—a sacrifice which he was not romantic enough to view with any satisfaction. On the other hand, the possibility of the adventure's coming to light filled him with the liveliest terrors. All England, it appeared to him, would laugh at the story, to which his trial would impart a horrid publicity, and no conceivable course of action would avail to preserve Caroline's name from scandal or himself from the aspect of a schemer who had successfully entrapped her. Even her marriage, instead of silencing slander, would but involve a third victim. To a lucid appre-hension of this dilemma were superadded the emotional agitations of a man deeply in love; and for once, Hardy's natural buoyancy was unequal to the weight of his troubles. Unsmiling and with bowed head he sat gazing upon his fettered hands, and beholding before him a future of unparalleled blackness.Relief came to him in the shape of a precisely-dressed elderly gentleman, who, speaking with a certain courtly deliberation, announced that his name was Masterton, and that he was here at the desire of Lord Pevensey.Upon his entrance, the prisoner's depression fell from him like a cloak, and the experienced Mr. Masterton afterwards reported that he had never before been received in Newgate by so unconcerned a client.Once more it became Hardy's part to play out a game—the game of satisfying his solicitor without telling him all the truth. With perfect openness he described the interview between Broughton and himself, the accaparation of the post-chaise and the watch kept at Croydon. On these points, he observed, he could be corroborated by his landlord, by the post-boy—whom it would doubtless be possible to discover—and by Susan, of the Greyhound. So, also, the innkeeper at Storthing could bear witness to the hiring of his chestnut, and to the unfortunate laming of that animal, "whereby," said Hardy, in tones of candour, "I was prevented from pushing on, as I intended, to High Broom Castle.""You know nothing, then," said Mr. Masterton, "of the warning which seems to have been conveyed to Miss Dalyngrange?"Hardy had prepared himself for the question."Yes," he replied, "I know by whom it was delivered; but I have promised to keep secret that part of the story; and it appears that Miss Dalyngrange has made the same promise."And then he added an artful gloss, upon which he had previously determined:"You can well understand, Mr. Masterton, that there may be persons in such a place as Old Burling who would fear to be known as having thwarted Mr. Broughton.""We must offer a reward," said Mr. Masterton. "The lady or yourself must appeal to this intermediary to come forward. His evidence would be your completest exculpation.""No doubt," said Hardy, quietly."And you spent the night in your own house, did you?""No, sir; I did not wish to make Mr. Broughton aware that I was in the neighbourhood. I spent the night in the ruins of Upfield Priory.""Dear, dear! That is very unfortunate. And you have, I suppose, no witness to the fact?""None at all."Mr. Masterton rubbed his smooth chin and murmured that this was an extremely awkward circumstance."You perceive, Captain Hardy, that, if any witness should appear to swear that you were seen at Hoatham or at any other spot where uncustomed goods were being carried, it would not be easy to disprove that evidence?"Hardy perceived it clearly. He smiled."Mr. Broughton," said he, "who must have played somewhat by guess, seems to have had better cards than he knew."Mr. Masterton, looking up from his notes which he was reading over, remarked that there must surely be witnesses in Sussex aware of Mr. Broughton's guilt, and that he should make it his business to visit that county."I gather from his lordship that the gentleman enjoys no very good reputation. As to Monday's examination at Bow Street, you will not, of course, be permitted to speak in your own defence, but you will, no doubt, be heard in support of the charge against Mr. Broughton. It will be unnecessary to enter into very minute particulars. All that is required is to show that the case should be sent for trial, as assuredly it will be."Then, after a civil word or two of encouragement, the solicitor departed, leaving his client to reflect once more upon the cheerful character of the prospects before him.Monday morning beheld him once more at Bow Street. He was seated there between two constables, in a waiting-room, when a stout and cheerful gentleman came bustling in, hailed him in a loud key and clapped him on the shoulder. This was Colonel Bird, and the ring of his voice gave Hardy an odd sensation as of being once more a seventeen-year-old cornet, liable to reprimands."Hey, Hardy!" cried the Colonel: "what tales are these Lord Pevensey tells me? An impudent neighbour fathering his own sins upon you? An insolent dog, upon my word! You did well to send for me; and if it comes to a trial, we will get Heathfield himself home from France to speak for you."Hardy's thanks were interrupted by the advent of his brother and Lord Pevensey, who came in together.Sir Austin Hardy, at first sight curiously like his cadet, was, in every detail, heavier, blunter and larger; his utterance slower, his movements more deliberate, his glance less keen and his tones less varied."This is a vexatious business, Gilbert," he remarked, looking anxiously into his junior's face. "My lord brought down the news to Holt Court on Saturday night."Hardy turned his quick smile towards Lord Pevensey, who had merely looked at him kindly and pressed his hand in silence.Lord Pevensey, indeed, might have found it difficult to speak with any semblance of ease. That extreme smoothness of demeanour to which he had been elaborately trained, covered, this morning, much inner perturbation. In company with Sir Austin Hardy he had returned, about an hour earlier, to his house in St. James's Square, and had there found awaiting him a most disturbing letter from Caroline, in which, without offering any comprehensible reasons, she expressed an earnest wish for the delay of their marriage. As in a dream, he now stood, hearing, but scarcely understanding the gay tones of the Colonel and the solemn ones of the Baronet.Even when, the party being ushered into the presence of the magistrate, the odious Broughton was revealed, Lord Pevensey experienced but a dull and inert emotion of distaste. Before his mind ran the phrases of Caroline's letter, and his thoughts were busy composing forms of reply.Mr. Broughton, conspicuous by his fine dress amid an assemblage of decidedly dingy spectators, contemplated with an eye of triumph the entry of Hardy and his four supporters, and then turned to murmur some observation into the ear of a lean and long-nosed individual who stood at his elbow, and of whom Mr. Masterton whispered to his principal: "That is Hallows, the attorney, a fellow of great dexterity but of very ill repute."The proceedings began. Mr. Broughton swore, with complete aplomb, to the tale outlined by the magistrate on the previous day; an affidavit was read that had been made before a justice of the peace at Camchester by Tooby, the shepherd, who declared therein that while in charge of his flock on the night of September the 10th, he had seen a party of men with laden horses, and that, the moon being bright, he had perfectly distinguished the faces of Captain Hardy, who appeared to be in command, of Daniel Southward, and of Reuben Gambling.Upon the evidence of these two witnesses Hardy was committed for trial at the next Lewes assizes.Mr. Masterton asked that his client might be released on bail, the Earl of Pevensey and Colonel Edward Bird offering themselves as sureties.At this point, Mr. Broughton, considering his part as over, was about to withdraw. The magistrate intervened."You will have the goodness to remain, if you please, Mr. Broughton. Your presence will be needed for further proceedings."Broughton cocked an inquiring eye at his attorney; his attorney returned a look of non-comprehension, and the pair stood in impatience, hearing a magisterial consent awarded to Hardy's liberation."This is quite out of custom," whispered Hallows. "'Tis unlucky he should produce such grandees.""I never dreamed," muttered Broughton, "that Lord Pevensey would come forward."The matter of the bail being concluded, the magistrate addressed himself to Mr. Broughton."I have granted, sir, a warrant for your arrest, upon the charge of being accessory before the fact——"The cumbrous indictment recited already in the case of Hardy rolled forth once more.Mr. Broughton presented an aspect of consternation, the lean cheeks of Hallows visibly fell in, and the apathetic countenances of the audience beamed suddenly with delighted interest. Broughton, indeed, began some sort of protest, but was promptly silenced.It was now Hardy's turn to tell his story, and the bare simplicity with which he did so seemed to emphasise the piquancy of the situation.Then Lord Pevensey was permitted, in accordance with the lax practice of an age that had not yet formally distinguished first-hand from hearsay evidence, to depose that Caroline had received warning of a design against her on Mr. Broughton's part, that she had left home voluntarily in order to avoid him, and that Mr. Broughton had, in fact, arrived at Hoatham, had insisted on searching for Miss Dalyngrange, and had displayed much annoyance at his failure to find her.Broughton once or twice attempted to interrupt, but was quieted by his lawyer."I have no alternative," pronounced the magistrate, when his lordship had concluded, "but to commit Mr. Broughton for trial.""You will allow my client bail, sir, I hope, no less than to Captain Hardy," said Hallows."If your client produces sureties equally responsible," replied the magistrate; and called for the next case.Hardy went out with his friends. Lord Pevensey's coach, waiting at a little distance, drew up as the gentlemen appeared, and in the moment's interval Hardy found himself the recipient of three several invitations, that of his brother being the first uttered."You will come home with me, I hope, Gilbert, until the trial. Your sister and the children will rejoice to see you, and it will be made clear that your family scouts this accusation."Colonel Bird, a childless widower, inhabiting a fine house in Soho, urged that his young friend should rather pay a visit to him."Show yourself everywhere, my dear boy. Let the world see that you have friends, and that you and they laugh to scorn this ridiculous affair.""Nay," said Lord Pevensey, "your presence will surely be needed in Sussex. I am returning myself to-morrow, and shall esteem it an honour if you will accompany me and be my guest until the trial calls us to Lewes.""You are very good, sir; you are very good, my lord," said Hardy, with some embarrassment. "I am extremely sensible of your kindness, but——"He paused, finding a difficulty in the formulation of presentable excuses, but fully resolved to avoid both publicity and the presence of Miss Dalyngrange."Mr. Masterton, I think, would be more useful in Sussex than I——and I believe on the whole it will be best that I should go home with my brother."Thus, with an air of hesitation and indecision most unsuitable to a smart young officer, Hardy concluded his reply.His sureties accepted it each in his own way, Lord Pevensey with polite regrets, Colonel Bird with a loud laugh and a declaration that he feared to let ' this young dog' out of his sight lest he should break his bail.Hardy walked away with his brother, the Colonel strolled into the Piazza, and Lord Pevensey, stepping into his carriage, was driven off to St. James's Square and a reperusal of Caroline's letter.On his way, however, a happy thought struck him, the thought of Lady Anne Gresham—and he bade his coachman take him to Cavendish Square.Lady Anne and her sister were both at home.He related to them the history of Mr. Broughton's attempt, making no mention, however, of Hardy; and the ladies were voluble in indignation."Your cousin, as you will scarce be surprised to hear, has been much disturbed by all this. It would, I am sure, be most acceptable to her and would help to divert the current of her thoughts if you, Lady Anne, would hasten your visit to Hoatham, and would suffer me to attend you thither to-morrow. My carriage is at your service, and I, if you will consent, will ride by you."The sisters demurred. Lady Anne's fine clothes for the wedding were not yet all ready; she was engaged to dine out to-morrow afternoon. It was clear, however, that the young lady herself was well disposed to the plan; and when Lord Pevensey departed from Cavendish Square, he carried with him her promise to be ready by ten o'clock the next morning.XIXON the afternoon of the succeeding Wednesday the ladies of Hoatham, as they sat together in the drawing-room, became simultaneously aware of the Castle chariot driving up the avenue."Here, no doubt, is his lordship returned," remarked Mrs. Duncombe with a placid smile.Caroline felt, and was ashamed to feel, her heart sink within her.The door was flung open, and the names announced: "Lady Anne Gresham; the Earl of Pevensey."Caroline sprang up with a cry."Anne! My dear Anne! How delighted I am! But how is it you have come?""Lord Pevensey," said Anne, "dealt with me as Mr. Broughton, we hear, would have dealt with you. He stormed the house and carried me off from my natural guardians.""And did I not do well?" asked Lord Pevensey. "I considered, like the merchant in the fairy tale, what present would be most acceptable to you, and brought you your cousin."Caroline thanked him, a little too formally, and upon her thanks followed a momentary pause.Mrs. Duncombe gave her pupil a look of admonition."You are not, I hope, in haste, my lord?" said Caroline. "You will, I hope, dine with us?"He answered that it had been his desire to do so. "Circumstances have arisen in connection with the charge against Mr.Broughton about which I am anxious to consult with you. And I have a letter of yours still unanswered."The mention of her letter called up a blush to Caroline's face, and she was glad to make a diversion by leading away Lady Anne to change her dress.Anne looked at her cousin with an appraising eye, and Caroline felt with uneasy forebodings the scrutiny of an observer more penetrating than Mrs. Duncombe. For the moment, however, there could be no questions; Anne's maid came in with her arms full of packages, and Caroline had to hasten away to Dorcas.At dinner a light stream of talk danced along, sparkling and shallow; both Caroline and Lord Pevensey, as they floated upon it, felt it bearing them onward to inevitable depths ahead.The meal was over and the pair sat facing each other in the library, each hiding apprehension behind a countenance of studied calm."I am profoundly distressed," said Lord Pevensey, "that you should desire to defer our marriage."Caroline murmured that she was sorry, but that she did very much desire it."It is, of course, a matter that rests in your decision; but I think that if you fully understood how such a delay must be felt by a man who loves you, you would refrain from the caprice of inflicting it."Caroline cast at him a glance of alarm, and flushed scarlet. The imminence and the horror of marriage with him rushed upon her in a double wave of terror."I cannot," she murmured faintly, and shrank back a little.Lord Pevensey stood up sharply. He on his part was very pale."But, perhaps. . . ." said he; and then, hearing, in spite of himself, his voice shaken and its notes changed, paused to recover command of it."Circumstances have arisen of a most unexpected nature, and perhaps when you have heard these you will see reason rather to hasten than to retard our marriage."Caroline, though inwardly certain that no conceivable circumstance could produce that effect, prepared herself to listen politely."Mr. Broughton has attempted to lay to Captain Hardy's charge his own attempted outrage."Caroline's troubled face became, on the instant, all inquiry."He has dared to bring an accusation against him both of attempting to carry you off and of having been engaged in running smuggled goods; and Hardy will be tried at the next Lewes assizes."Caroline started up."What?" she cried. "What? But how is it possible?"He explained in further detail, and Caroline, listening, wide-eyed, began to understand."It was my desire," Lord Pevensey proceeded, "to bring him back with me as my guest until the trial, but he declined.""Where is he?" asked Caroline in a low voice."At his brother's house in Hertfordshire.""And is it possible, my lord, that this charge may succeed?""Indeed I hope not. But the law is pro-verbially uncertain. Mr. Masterton seems to think a conviction not absolutely impossible. Now, it is on our account that Hardy has fallen into this scrape. You will, I am sure, agree that we cannot permit him to suffer. If he should be convicted, we must refuse to be bound by his desire for silence. It will be for me, in that case, to declare that my friend, Captain Hardy, spent that night in guarding the lady who was, as he knew, on the eve of becoming my wife; and that the Countess of Pevensey is ready to bear witness to the fact. Even so, there will, doubtless, be evil-minded persons ready to slander the three of us, but, as my wife, you can despise them. It would be a different matter if your marriage were at the same time known to be deferred. The scandal-mongers would suppose the delay my doing, and something of a cloud would rest upon both of us, our life long. You see this, do you not?""Yes," said Caroline, dropped her head and was silent.Her quick mind cast a shrinking glance down a long vista of solitude and calumny, but though she shrank, she breathed more freely. Better solitude and calumny than the bonds of marriage.She raised her head and said, slowly: "My lord, I must tell you—I ought to have written it—I can never be the Countess of Pevensey."Lord Pevensey's studied calm broke up in a fierce, scarce articulate outcry. For a single moment he drew back, touched by who knows what momentary wind of suspicion. In the next, he had caught her two hands, and was crying out, in such a tone of passionate appeal as she had never yet heard:"Caroline, Caroline! what do you mean? What have I done?"Two tears came slowly into Caroline's eyes."Oh, I have done very wrong," said she: "I ought to have understood."Instinctively her hands made an effort to withdraw themselves that was more eloquent than words, and that carried to his heart a conviction—which, nevertheless, he would, even to himself, have denied—of the finality of this separation."But this is madness, Caroline," he protested. "You gave me your promise freely; nobody urged or constrained you. You cannot deliberately mean to break it.""I ought never to have given it," said Caroline. "I told you that I felt no more for you than friendly esteem. I ought to have known that that is not enough. Now, when our marriage draws near, I know that to marry without love is impossible.""My dear, I am content. I ask no more than your friendly esteem. How many happy marriages are based upon nothing more! I will wait for your love. Nay, my dear Caroline, you are but mistaking the natural tremors and hesitations of a girl for something deeper. All women of delicate feeling experience such moments of doubt."Caroline shook her head."You told me that you preferred no other man, and surely you will not abjure marriage because you do not feel a strong passion. You warned me that you did not believe that to belong to your nature.""I thought so, but I was mistaken," said Caroline, speaking in a low voice and not looking at him.Comprehension broke upon him in a flash."Hardy has come between us," said he.At that Caroline looked up."He has said nothing. It is only that I have come to understand," she returned, quickly.Lord Pevensey, very much on his guard against a second outburst of feeling, stood motionless; and when, presently, he spoke, his voice was hard and dry."You desire to release yourself from me because you have discovered that you prefer another man?""Yes," said Caroline."Does Hardy know this?""He has not the smallest suspicion of it. You are the only person who knows it."Again came a pause. Caroline, with a strong sense of guilt upon her, stood watching the grasp of a thin hand grow gradually tighter upon the edge of an embroidered coat.At last he said: "All these things have come upon me very unexpectedly. Since I am the only person acquainted with them, suffer me for another twenty-four hours to remain the only person."Caroline, glad to accede to a wish of his, and not sorry to defer the awkward hour of revelation, readily consented."The charge against Hardy," proceeded his lordship, "must, of course, shortly become public, and it would be well that I should communicate it at once to Mrs. Duncombe and Lady Anne. Hardy, I understand, has admitted to his solicitor that the warning received by you of Broughton's designs came from him, but has led him to suppose that an intermediary was employed and that this person is afraid of being discovered. For the present, at least, our story must be framed in accordance with his."Once more Caroline assented, and Lord Pevensey, opening the door with a bow, took her hand, and led her back, according to the ceremonious etiquette of the day, to the drawing-room.Many were the exclamations with which the ladies in that apartment received his lordship's surprising communication. Lady Anne, to whom Hardy was unknown, made several inquiries about his family and history, to which Mrs. Duncombe discreetly furnished replies.Her own most pregnant comments the good lady reserved for a private interview with Caroline, who before she slept had the advantage of learning that, in Mrs. Duncombe's opinion, the trial was likely to arouse most prejudicial gossip, and that she considered it incumbent upon Caroline to expedite her marriage."If you were to be called, my dear, to the very disagreeable duty of giving evidence, it would at least be better to do so as the Countess of Pevensey than as an unmarried young lady."The possibility of being actually compelled to appear in the witness-box had not until this moment occurred to Caroline. She now contemplated it in silent dismay."Do you not agree with me, my dear?" said Mrs. Duncombe; and Caroline found herself obliged to answer that Lord Pevensey and she, after considering the point, had decided not to hurry the marriage.Mrs. Duncombe privately resolved to try her arguments upon his lordship personally, and so departed, leaving her pupil to spend, during a sultry and thunderous night, several wakeful hours of most uncomfortable meditation.XXNEXT morning came another ordeal, none the less painful for an admixture of the absurd. On the suggestion of Mrs. Duncombe, all Caroline's wedding outfit had to be exhibited to Anne. The unsuspicious questions of the one, and the complacent replies of the other, were, to Caroline, so many touches upon a bruise. She displayed, as she believed, a stoical composure; yet she presently became aware that Anne's eyes scanned her with curious unsatisfied glances, full of questions much deeper than any that were spoken.Later in the day, the afternoon being fresh and sunny, and Anne announcing a desire to sit in the garden and enjoy "that fine air which, we are told, makes the cheeks red and the eyes bright," the cousins went out together. Passing along a pathway haunted for Caroline by the figure of Hardy, they came to a little square of formal garden, all cut up into neat flower-beds, and so, through an archway of the high yew hedge, to a grass plot, with a sundial in its centre.Here, upon the broad steps at the base of the sundial, they established themselves and their work-baskets. One was netting a long purse of bright red silk, the other embroidering the end of a muslin scarf. Their delicate pale dresses were like great flowers against the grass; the red purse gleamed and glowed under Anne's fingers, and a silver shoe-buckle twinkled upon the foot that held fast the netting-loop. They sat thus for a peaceful hour or more, while the visible shadow of the hedge and the unseen shadow on the dial crept stealthily forward; their voices twittering now and again in the afternoon stillness; the sun bringing out into brightness now one patch and now another of their voluminous draperies. Away in the woods above the ruins a distant jay cried a harsh reminder of the predatory outer world."Tell me," said Anne, drawing out her mesh from a completed row, "something about Captain Hardy. He seems to me quite a hero of romance. I hope he is as handsome as heroes should be."The temptation coming thus unexpectedly was irresistible. For a couple of minutes Caroline permitted herself the joy of describing those looks whose image dwelt so vividly in her own mind."And do you believe," asked Anne, "that he will keep his promise not to tell who warned you?""I am sure he will," said Caroline.Something in the tone of that reply caused Anne suddenly to look across, and as she looked, her grey eyes widened, and her pretty lips fell apart.There was an interval of silence, brief but pregnant."And does he love you?" asked Anne, in a tone at once arch and cajoling, and with a delicate emphasis upon both pronouns."He has given me no right to say so," answered Caroline stiffly.Anne tossed her head—a quaint little jerk, like a bird's—and went on with her netting.Caroline's eyes remained fixed upon the upward and downward movements of her own needle. Suddenly she saw the long purse slide, like a red snake, into the grass and felt her cousin's arms round her.A soft voice murmured into her ear: "I knew from the beginning that you did not love Lord Pevensey."For a moment Caroline responded involun-tarily to the embrace; in the next, loyalty recalled the pact of last night, and she drew on her mask again."Why, my dear, who would have believed you so romantic?" said she, feeling after a smile, and drawing herself away.But Anne withdrew neither her arm nor her opinion."Do not trouble yourself," said she, "to tell me lies, for I shall not believe them. Nor do I wish to force your confidence, though I am very sure you would be the happier for speaking."Caroline shook her head, though reluctantly, freed herself definitely from the persuasive encircling arm, and with trembling fingers resumed her embroidery frame.Anne, after a very brief hesitation, followed her example, adjusted her netting-loop and reached down for her purse.Upon this peaceful group the eyes of Lord Pevensey fell, as he advanced, not long afterwards, through the yew archway, and he contemplated it—poor blinded man—with satisfaction, nor divined what kind of an ally he had, in his ingenuity, brought down to Hoatham.Caroline looked up at him calmly. It was Anne who seemed a little discomposed."Mrs. Duncombe bids me tell you," said he, "that tea will be ready in a few minutes."They rose, shaking out their skirts, and Caroline's thimble took occasion perversely to roll away into the grass. Lord Pevensey of course pursued it; its recovery was less rapid than might have been expected.Anne had passed out through the yew arch.Caroline could do no less than wait.He came forward, rolling the thimble between his fingers, and stood still, facing her."I have spent the night," said he, "thinking of what you said to me yesterday."She listened with a gentle, almost apologetic countenance."And to-day I come to you with an entreaty. This trial must occur very shortly. We are to-day at the nineteenth of the month. Do not cast aside your promise to me until the trial is over."Caroline looked at him undecidedly, and his strained composure broke down."Of what are you suspecting me?" he cried angrily. "Can you not understand my wish to keep my name and yours out of the gutter?"His flash of anger touched a warmer feeling in Caroline than his long patience had ever done."'Tis not that I suspect anything," she hastened to reply. "'Tis that I dread to bind myself by any more promises. But if you wish, no more need be said at present than that the marriage is put off. So much as that is necessary—and indeed, I have been obliged to tell Mrs. Duncombe something of the kind."She walked on, and he followed without another word, fighting down, as he went, all sorts of unwonted temptations to violent utterances and acts.At the tea-table he spoke hardly at all, and immediately after the end of the meal took his leave."My lawyer, Mr. Masterton, who is conducting Captain Hardy's defence, will be arriving at the Castle. And, by the way, he will wish to ask you some questions and to hear the statements of the servants who were in the house. At what time would it be convenient to you to receive him?"Caroline answered steadily that she would be ready to see Mr. Masterton at any hour on the morrow; and Lord Pevensey, having successfully provided her with that uncomfortable prospect, departed, carrying home with him visions yet more discomforting.At the end of a quarter of an hour's parley, next morning, Mr. Masterton rose from his chair, red in the face and indignant."Am I to understand, then, madam," said he, "that you refuse all intervention on behalf of this unfortunate young gentleman?"Caroline, who, throughout the interview, had been perfectly civil and perfectly frigid, maintained the same demeanour."I do not see my way, sir, to intervene with advantage.""Yet you admit the truth of his story?""Yes.""And you must be aware that he saved you from a grave danger?""Certainly.""And yet you will suffer him to be transported without lifting a little finger to save him?"She drew a long breath and then commanded herself again."He is not yet convicted, sir."Mr. Masterton, a man both acute and experienced, had a sudden inkling of something deeper behind the words."If he were to be convicted, would you speak then?"Caroline stood silent. She was fully determined that if Hardy should be pronounced guilty, she would speak out without an hour's delay, but she was not inclined to give to Hardy, through Mr. Masterton, the oppor-tunity of combating that intention beforehand. After a pause of deliberation she replied, slowly, "It is possible."Mr. Masterton in his turn paused, and when he spoke again had recovered his smooth professional tone."Nay, madam, 'tis sure no very great matter that you are asked to undertake for my client—merely to see the emissary who brought you warning and to beg him, or her, to release you from your promise of secrecy. I can scarce believe any lady can be indeed so hard-hearted or so ungrateful that she can be unwilling to do thus much."Caroline did not succeed in wholly repressing a fugitive and ironical smile."You do me no more than justice, Mr. Masterton. I should very gladly see the emissary, and very gladly be relieved from my promise. But I will not undertake to do what I know to be out of my power.""And is that all that I may report to my client?""Yes, sir, that is all," said Caroline, and Mr. Masterton went away, divided between an opinion that Miss Dalyngrange was a heartless minx and a suspicion that her real personality had not once been shown to him.Caroline, standing alone in the library where he had left her, revolved the idea which the lawyer had unconsciously suggested. To see Hardy—and to ask him for release from the promise of secrecy! The second clause, indeed, came but as an afterthought and a pretext. To see him—upon that point every thought and hope converged. There were some fifteen days yet before the opening of the assizes—fifteen endless days. To see him, even across a. court, even accused and wronged—Lewes began to assume the colours of Eden. Beyond those days of stress in Lewes, the world held no future.Lord Pevensey, meanwhile, was walking on the terrace beside Lady Anne, and had begun to discourse upon the subject of which his thoughts were full."You find your cousin, I fear, a good deal disturbed by late events?""A little.""If our marriage could but have taken place a little earlier none of all these things would then have occurred.""A man so violent and so ill-guided as this Mr. Broughton would have been capable of shooting your lordship from behind a hedge.""And now," proceeded Lord Pevensey, "Miss Dalyngrange is so much disturbed that she wishes to defer our marriage."Anne looked at him keenly, and wondered how much he knew of Caroline's real sentiments."Has she spoken to you of it?" he asked sharply."No," answered Anne, and was thankful that she could truthfully say so."She does not know—she does not understand—perhaps no woman ever knows the depth of a man's feeling. She does not mean to torture me, but——"He stopped short, having revealed, unawares, in those broken words, more of his inner self than he had ever shown to any fellow-creature.She did not immediately find terms in which to make any reply; their leisurely paces brought them to the end of the terrace, and they turned."I have sometimes feared," said Anne, hesitating a little, "that Caroline gave you her promise without fully knowing her own mind."He was on his guard at once, and put up the shield of a careless tone."Nay, my dear Lady Anne, many of the most charming women are never sure of that until they are actually married. I have no apprehension that the Countess of Pevensey will be other than a contented woman."Anne neither dissented nor acquiesced, and he presently continued: "She could not be happy away from this part of the country, nor in a narrow life. Miss Dalyngrange, Lady Anne, has fine talents and a very remarkable understanding of how to manage an estate; and persons of talents, you know, are never completely happy except in the exercise of them."The grey eyes of Lady Anne were full of compassion, but as they were not directed towards him, Lord Pevensey did not read their meaning."I hope you may be right, my lord," said she, softly.Then Mr. Masterton appeared at the end of the terrace; his client went forward towards him, and Anne, turning away, walked slowly round the corner of the house to the garden door.XXITHE ancient town of Lewes, at the time when it fell to Gilbert Hardy's lot to be tried there, was—as, in a less measure it still is—inconvenient and precipitous, and delightful to the eye. Its streets, still steep, were, at that period, mostly narrower, its houses more irregular and projecting. The castle looked down, as it now does, from the hill-top; the Ouse ran in tidal variations, as now, along its chalky bed. But the bridge that spanned it in those days, and that was already too narrow for the requirements of its position, was a structure of singular grace and elegance. Upon its centre, where the wall was broken by a railed space, loungers were wont to stand by the hour, translating at long intervals their leisurely rustic thoughts into the slow soft idiom of Sussex. Repose brooded over the town, broken once a week by market day, and four times a year by the assizes. At those animating seasons the judges came rolling in, in their great coach, with trumpeters before them; the church bells rang, and the streets were full. Young barristers, thin and keen, came riding on hired steeds; Serjeants and councillors came in commodious chariots; comfortable country lawyers came ambling on their own sedate roadsters. Inn yards were crowded with post-chaises, inn-rooms with guests. The young women of Lewes, famous throughout the county for their good looks, brought out their best gowns and invented new trimmings for their hats.One afternoon, early in October, two days before the opening of Hardy's trial, the party from Old Burling made its entry. Caroline, Mrs. Duncombe, and Anne occupied the Hoatham coach; Lord Pevensey and Mr. Masterton that from High Broom Castle. Under the direction of the latter gentleman, both vehicles were now approaching the bridge, on their way to the rooms which he had secured beforehand for the ladies. Two horsemen, also desirous of crossing, paused to give them way. Mr. Masterton, recognising them, leaned out to wave a greeting; the horsemen lifted their hats, and one of them, Sir Austin Hardy, pushed forward to the carriage door. Lord Pevensey, compelled by politeness, alighted; the second carriage per-force stood still, and Caroline, looking out, met the eyes of Gilbert Hardy.The past surged up around her, as it is said to do in the brain of a drowning man; once more she saw him across the church, once more heard his reply to her own denunciation, once more felt his cry of ' Hush!' thrill through her.Anne, seeing her cousin's face change like a window suddenly illuminated, instantly divined at whom she must be looking. Her own gaze travelled to the stranger's face, and there read Hardy's secret. A curious indignation stirred in her breast. Had these creatures, so mutually enthralled, no thought for that other onlooker, whose dearest hope they were lacerating? At him Anne gave no glance.The whole scene was but momentary. Hardy, at the carriage window, uttered some formula of greeting; Mrs. Duncombe expressed her concern and sympathy. Caroline did not speak, nor did Anne. She saw him stoop from his saddle to take the offered hand of Lord Pevensey, and heard his lordship speaking in a calm and collected tone. Then the carriage moved again, and a church clock, striking four, marked off the new strange hour upon which they had just entered.The long suspense of the next morning merged slowly into afternoon, and the afternoon at last brought that moment upon which many thoughts and hopes and fears had converged. Captain Hardy came, as he could hardly dispense himself from doing, to wait upon the ladies, but he safeguarded himself by coming in Lord Pevensey's company.To those who knew him already, it was perceptible that he was paler than usual and that his speech had taken graver tones.Mrs. Duncombe was desirous to hear prognostications of the morrow's proceedings."Indeed, madam," he assured her cheerfully, "I have no apprehensions on my own account. It is but Mr. Broughton's word against mine; and it would be hard indeed if my record were not held to outweigh his."The good lady cordially assented, and Lord Pevensey echoed her."There is, however, one matter," Hardy proceeded, "which does, I own, disturb me. Mr. Masterton understands that Broughton will certainly call Miss Dalyngrange as a witness; and I do not know how I shall endure to hear a lady insolently questioned and cross-questioned on my account."To Caroline this confirmation of her dread was no slight blow. She said bravely, however: "I am so much in your debt, Captain Hardy, that it would ill become me to begrudge any such momentary inconvenience.""Is it expected," inquired Lord Pevensey, "that Miss Dalyngrange's evidence will be asked for to-morrow?"That Hardy could not say; Mr. Masterton had declared the point uncertain.At this stage Anne, very skilfully, effected a diversion. She saw that no subject other than the charge against Hardy could possibly occupy the conversation, but she understood that its past would better bear discussion than its future, and began to ask questions about Broughton's visit to him in London.Hardy told the story gaily enough; at the history of Mr. Broughton's intoxication, Mrs. Duncombe and Anne smiled; at the history of the intercepted post-chaise they actually laughed; and thus the painful ordeal of the visit was successfully brought to an end. Hardy, still outwardly cheerful, but extremely pale, went away; and Anne, silently reviewing his words and demeanour, grudgingly admitted to herself that a woman might very naturally be in love with him.Lord Pevensey now endeavoured to persuade the ladies, who had not taken the air to-day, to go with him to visit the castle. Caroline declared herself unwilling, but urged the expedition upon the others; and Anne compliantly expressing an inclination to go, she and Mrs. Duncombe went away to put on their cloaks.Lord Pevensey and Caroline were thus left together, and he seized the occasion to say: "Hardy bade me give you a message."She looked up, expectant."It was that he counted upon your promise."Caroline's answer delayed, but came at last."You may tell him," said she, "that I will not break it without first warning him."Lord Pevensey would have replied, but the others returned. He rose in silence.It is difficult in the area of Lewes for persons who know each other to be long in the streets without meeting, and the trio had not reached the foot of the castle hill when they encountered Dr. King, whom they at once absorbed into their party.The Rector of Old Burling was here to produce in court the paper given him long since by Caroline, and to bear witness on behalf of Reuben Gambling. Keziah, having married Reuben, was debarred from giving evidence for him, and he, of course, was debarred from giving it for himself.Half way up the slope, Mrs. Duncombe, unaccustomed to walking, paused, and with many regrets and apologies, declared herself incapable of reaching the top. Dr. King offered to remain with her while she rested and the younger pair went on alone.Lord Pevensey, who had acquired almost unconsciously a habit of speaking openly to Anne, presently said: "I wish that Caroline would have been persuaded to marry me before we came here. It would be fifty times better if she could speak in court as Lady Pevensey—better for Hardy too."Anne gave him a curious glance, searching yet sympathetic."Cannot you, my lord," said she, "induce the messenger to come forward? Sure it can be but a matter of money. Or is it possible that you, too, do not know who it is?""Nay, do not you, Lady Anne, know?""How should I know? Who but Caroline could tell me? And she is bound to secrecy.""And have you never guessed?"They stood still on the chalky hillside, face to face. Vaguely, with fumbling thoughts, Anne began to feel out the truth."Yes," said Lord Pevensey; "it was Hardy who came, and it was under his care, alone, that she spent the night."Anne's cheeks flushed crimson, her eyes shone and her voice quivered as she cried out: "Oh, and it is he who is insisting on the secret! He is risking his life sooner than let people say what they would say.""If she were but my wife, I would tell the story myself and we would defy the scandalmongers. It is not yet too late. Cannot you persuade her? If the whole truth should come out—and how can it fail to come out when they cross-examine her? Lady Anne, help me to persuade her.""And are you sure, perfectly sure, that you wish to marry her?" Anne asked very earnestly."What do you mean?" cried Lord Pevensey. "What do you know? What has she told you?""She has told me nothing. But I am a woman, and have eyes. Do not you, my lord, know that her heart is not yours?"He uttered a groan of great distress, and turned from her.They walked on in silence.After a few minutes he broke out again, as though there had been no dividing pause: "And what then? Such fancies die. She cannot marry him. It would be to fix this story upon her for ever. Nor has he offered it. What ground have we to suppose him willing? With me she will be safe. Her life will be full; she will soon forget. But if she persists in giving me up——Oh, Anne, indeed you must help us, for both our sakes.""Indeed, I would very gladly help you both, if I could; but Caroline's is no common disposition, and I doubt whether any considerations could influence her against her own feelings.""If Hardy were transported——" He stopped short. "You see what base temptations beset me!""But I am very sure I shall never see you yield to them."He took her hand, pressed it and kept it in his as they walked on."If he should be convicted," he said presently, "it will be for me to tell the tale. Then—I know it beforehand, as though it had happened—Hardy will feel bound to offer himself to Caroline.""Probably he will be acquitted," said Anne. "He seems to believe so.""He would say so even if he saw the gallows already erected. But to see her married out of compassion—the theme of every man's gossip! And I could save her, if she would."Many perceptions jostled in the mind of Anne; foremost among them she saw the keenness of personal desire that disguised itself as solicitude for Caroline. She saw, too, the immutable fact that Caroline and Hardy loved each other, and foresaw their marriage as the natural, the truest, almost the inevitable end—the end, indeed, to be desired. But her sympathies were with this sufferer, who alone of the trio had behaved perfectly well and upon whom alone the real punishment seemed likely to fall. Anne's old childish admiration awoke again in a new form; the touch of his hand clasping hers called to her like the cry of a child, and a tenderness almost maternal plucked at her heart. Lord Pevensey never guessed how very near he came to being embraced and wept over upon that Sussex hillside.Speech died between them, and as they came to the castle their hands dropped apart.A caretaker came out; the courtyard was shown them, and the keep and the ruins. Everything passed before them like the scenery of a dream. Mechanically Lord Pevensey handed the man a coin; they came out again upon the grey-green turf and saw below them the red sloping roofs of a steep street and the bell-tower of the Town Hall, where to-morrow's drama was to be enacted.In the evening Lord Pevensey asked for a few minutes of private conversation with Caroline. She sat opposite to him—pale, large-eyed, no look of obduracy stiffening the sadness of her face. He, who had curbed and schooled himself to outward calm, began gently: " Before it is too late, I must once more beg of you to consider the position in which, by no fault of yours or mine or Captain Hardy's, we all stand. It is not my claim that I desire to press upon you. If you will consent to bear my name, no more shall be asked of you until—unless—you choose. All that I ask, Caroline, is the right to shield you from foul tongues, and the right also to save Hardy from accusations and suspicions which we both know to be undeserved. He is ready, as a generous man should be, to bear them rather than save himself by exposing a woman; and as the case stands, if you reveal the truth, or if I reveal it, and at the same time our marriage is broken off, his name will not be cleared although yours will be tarnished. In the eyes of the world his conduct to you—which we know to have been disinterested—will stamp him as despicable."Caroline remembered Hardy's own words to the same purpose. An iron hand seemed to be closing over her."No," she cried desperately: "I cannot believe that people are so wicked. Surely they would believe the truth if you declared it too.""Perhaps—but my belief can only be shown by our marriage. If I now rejected you (and, say what we might, that would be the version accepted) who would credit my protestations? I, who love you, who honour you, who would trust your word against the universe, should be forced into the position of your enemy and your accuser. You would do injury, not to yourself only, but to two men who have loyally endeavoured to serve you."Caroline looked at him with the eyes of an animal in a trap, and his own heart leaped and struggled in the desire to snatch her to him and lull her with soothing words. He clenched his hands and his teeth, sat silent for a moment and forced down the spasm of passion.The hardest step was before him; he wavered, doubtful of his own power to cross it, then braced himself once more, and took it at a stride."Yet one word more—forgive me for it—we have come to the point when plain speaking is a necessity. If you did marry him—and he could do no less than offer it—you would but confirm——"Hardy's words rang in Caroline's ears: 'No power on earth that could force me to that marriage.' She interrupted sharply."You need not consider that case. It will not arise."He breathed deeply. The solace of this declaration was almost happiness."If so, and since I am content, why not let Dr. King read the service for us tomorrow? The whole state of affairs would be changed if you could go into court as Lady Pevensey."Acutely she felt the truth of this assurance. A way of outlet seemed to open from the impasse that held her in its cleft. She drew a long breath, looked up and met eyes that told another tale than that of the smooth voice. A shadow of the old terror chilled her."Oh, no, not that—not to-morrow."He did not urge; he merely looked entreaty. What was it that had terrified her? He seemed now but a friend, a helping hand, a haven of refuge from all these storms.She stood up suddenly."It is not fair to press me. I am too weary, too much tormented.""I do not press you. But, at least, do not go into court with the fresh buzz around you of our broken engagement. Nay, Caroline, that much, I think, you owe me.""That shall be as you please," said Caroline, and seemed to feel fetters being fitted back upon her limbs."Then to the outer world we pass as promised still?""If you wish it."He lifted her hand to his lips; his own as he raised it, trembled. He led her back to her companions in the next room, and went away to his own solitary room in Lewes's best inn. There he dropped into a chair and lay back white and exhausted, with a sinking at the heart that was almost despair. Almost, but not quite. Somewhere beneath the horizon he felt a star of hope lurking, and through all his weariness of soul he looked to see it rise by-and-by.XXIITHE old Town Hall of Lewes rose like an island in the midst of the High Street, the divided traffic of which flowed in two streams at the base of its walls, a position equally incommodious for those who strove to listen within, and those who wished to pass, without.Here, on a bright autumn morning, Hardy's trial began, before an assemblage that included Caroline, her cousin, Mrs. Duncombe and Lord Pevensey.Hardy, as he came into the dock and stood there, self-possessed but not self-assertive, showed to great advantage beside his rustic companion in misfortune, Reuben Gambling, who absolutely cowered with alarm.Southward was not to be tried. He had availed himself (as no doubt had always been intended) of that provision of the law according to which any offender who, 'within three months of his offence and before his conviction ' chose to discover to the commissioners of the customs two or more accomplices ' so as to be convicted,' was to have ' £50 for every person so convicted and be discharged of his offence.' Bail having been denied to him, the respectable Southward was still occupying a cell in Lewes gaol, where, it was to be supposed, he solaced his lonely hours with anticipations of acquiring £50 twice over and satisfying a double revenge.The court having decided to take first the charge of attempted burglary and abduction, Reuben was withdrawn, and Hardy remained alone behind the bar, presenting to the court his excellent soldierly bearing, open countenance and well-bred calmness of demeanour.The first hour was almost entirely consumed by preliminary formalities, established, it might almost be supposed, for the express purpose of fretting the friends of a prisoner.At last, the counsel for the prosecution rose and opened the case. Caroline looked with apprehension at the large and burly man whose loud voice eddied through the hall. She knew already that this was Serjeant Compton, notoriously redoubtable and overbearing. Hardy's advocate was Serjeant Brownlow, whose gentle and ingratiating arts of cross-examination often elicited surprising admissions from unwary witnesses.Serjeant Compton depicted Hardy in the character of a young gentleman home from the wars who had attempted to establish his fortunes by an opulent marriage."Whether or no he actually came to proposals and was rejected it is not for me to say. Certain it is that the prisoner quitted Old Burling abruptly early in the month of May and was not seen there again until the evening of September 10th. At that time an alliance had been arranged between the lady and a nobleman of this county."The Broughton version of the interview between Caroline's two rejected suitors followed, in which, of course, Hardy appeared as panting for revenge and deaf to the remonstrances of the virtuous Broughton.Having drawn his speech to a fine peroration, the Serjeant sat down, allowed a moment's impressive pause, then rose to his feet and called Caroline Dalyngrange.An expectant murmur ran through the court, and every eye turned towards the figure of the tall young lady who rose from the front benches and was ushered into the witnessbox. She was pale but perfectly composed, and her first act was to bestow upon the prisoner a well-marked bow."Will you have the kindness, madam," began Serjeant Compton, "to inform the court how long you have been acquainted with the prisoner at the bar? ""Since his return to England, in the spring of this year.""Is it the fact that he made proposals of marriage to you? ""Yes, sir.""How did you receive these proposals? ""I declined them.""Politely, no doubt? "Caroline drew a long breath and hesitated."Politely, Miss Dalyngrange? Politely and gratefully?""No," said Caroline; "rudely and ungratefully; with a rudeness and injustice of which I have long been ashamed."Hardy, reddening, looked down, and his grasp tightened upon the bar before him."Indeed? And will you tell the court the reason of that behaviour?"Caroline turned to the judge."Am I bound, my lord, to repeat a story to Captain Hardy's disadvantage, which I know now to be false? ""I will waive the question," said Serjeant Compton quickly.But the judge, speaking slowly and gravely, replied: "I think, madam, since the question has been put and a suggestion thus conveyed to the jury, you will best serve the prisoner's interests by telling us what was your belief at the time, and how that belief came to be altered."Upon this, Caroline, in rather an uncertain voice began: "I was led to believe that Captain Hardy had behaved basely to a young girl. Some time afterwards I learned that the facts were not as the girl had represented. The true particulars came to me in a letter from Dr. King. I destroyed the letter, but Dr. King can declare what was in it, if it is necessary. It is quite certain that I did Captain Hardy great injustice.""And the prisoner must have known that you did so?""Yes, my lord.""It would not be surprising, therefore, if he should entertain a desire for revenge?""It would not have been surprising in a base person," Caroline replied.A thrill vibrated in her voice as she spoke, and the faintest flicker of a smile passed across her face. The contrast between Hardy's actual conduct and this insinuation sat warm at her heart and obliterated for a moment the horror of standing here, compelled to unravel, thread by thread, before a throng of gaping listeners all that she most desired to keep secret.Compton's harsh voice recalled her."When had you last seen the prisoner, previous to September 10th? ""I had seen him one day in London, in the theatre. I do not remember the date.""Was that before the announcement of your intended marriage, or afterwards? ""Before.""You cannot tell, therefore, whether he did not still desire to marry you and whether he did not also entertain sentiments of revenge and resentment?""I believe that he rode from London to warn Lord Pevensey and myself of Mr. Broughton's design against me, and therefore I cannot doubt that his sentiments towards both of us were generous and friendly.""But can you give any reason for your belief, beyond what Shakespeare calls the woman's reason: ' I think him so because I I think him so '?""I can give no other reason, sir," Caroline answered, and again the fugitive smile touched her lips, a symptom of levity at which the Serjeant, with a sudden drop of his heavy brows, assumed a new and rougher tone."Now, madam, if you please, I have to ask you, where were you during the attack made upon your house on September 10th?""That," said Caroline, "is a question which I decline to answer. I have promised the person who helped me to a place of safety that I would divulge none of the particulars.''"May I remind you, madam, that you have sworn to speak the whole truth? ""I do not think, Serjeant Compton," interposed the judge, "that this is a question which the witness need be required to answer. We are to understand, Miss Dalyngrange, that you were not in your house at Hoatham when it was attacked? ""I was not, my lord.""Did you leave it of your own free will?""I did.""And were free to return to it when you chose?""Quite free.""No one compelled or induced you by false representation to go? ""No one, my lord.""That is all, Serjeant Compton, that, as I take it, we have a right to inquire."Serjeant Compton threw down his brief."I have done, my lord," said he, with an assumption of impatience and an artful air of having been thwarted in a fine train of examination."I shall not have a great deal to ask you, Miss Dalyngrange," began Serjeant Brownlow, his mellifluous voice sounding softer than ever by contrast. "May I inquire whether you have seen Captain Hardy since this charge was brought against him? ""I saw him yesterday, sir. Lord Pevensey brought him to call upon me.""And may I ask you upon what terms you received him?""As an honoured friend, sir, to whom I am under great obligations.""Has he never made any second proposal of marriage to you? ""No, sir.""Nor given you reason to suppose that he entertained any such design? ""Never, sir.""Now, Miss Dalyngrange—I am sorry to keep you on these delicate topics, but the circumstances of this astonishing charge make it necessary—I wish to take you to the behaviour of another gentleman, your neighbour, Mr. Broughton. How long have you known Mr. Broughton? ""For many years—almost all my life.""Has he ever made proposals of marriage to you? ""Frequently, sir.""Have you ever received them favourably? ""Never.""Can you remember the last occasion on which he made such proposals?"She reflected a moment."It was on a Thursday in last month, a week before my house was attacked. It must have been the 3rd of September.""He was aware, was he, of your engagement to Lord Pevensey?""Perfectly; he desired me to break that engagement, and threatened violence towards his lordship.""How did you receive these suggestions, Miss Dalyngrange?""I called to the gardeners, who were at work not far off, and bade them open the gate for Mr. Broughton to go away."Somebody among the hearers tittered. Mr. Broughton reddened and looked angry and disconcerted."That is all I have to ask you at present, Miss Dalyngrange," said Serjeant Brownlow, with a bow.Reseating himself, he looked politely and expectantly towards the flushed and scowling Broughton.Serjeant Compton naturally felt that the moment was inauspicious for calling that unhappy gentleman into the box, and Caroline's re-examination was the price paid for Serjeant Brownlow's dexterity."One moment, Miss Dalyngrange, if you please. You have told the court that Mr. Broughton displayed a certain animosity towards Lord Pevensey. Has he ever carried that animosity into action—ever shown enmity to his lordship in person—quarrelled with him or challenged him, for example? ""Not that I know of.""Have you ever seen any signs of enmity on Mr. Broughton's part towards the prisoner at the bar? "She meditated."No, sir, I do not remember that I have.""You have said that you entertained at one time an unfavourable opinion of your neighbour, Captain Hardy?""Yes, sir.""And have since changed your opinion? ""Yes.""And now you entertain an unfavourable opinion of another neighbour, Mr. Broughton?""I do.""May we not conclude, Miss Dalyngrange, that you were somewhat lacking in charity for your neighbours, and that your judgments should not be regarded too seriously?"Caroline coloured, but recovered herself."I should be glad, sir, to think well of all my neighbours, but it is not easy to think well at the same time of two gentlemen, one or other of whom is certainly forswearing himself."Somebody laughed, and Compton permitted the examination to conclude.Caroline returned to her place and sat, at first, in comparative satisfaction, telling herself, that, after all, she had been able to say something of service to Hardy. But, by-and-by, as the excitement of activity passed away, she began to recall the answers forced from her, and to feel that her words had done the accused man an injury.She looked across at him. He was pale, as he had been yesterday, and was much graver than his wont. He scarcely seemed to be listening to Broughton's narrative of his visit to Buckingham Street.Caroline's heart melted within her. An absolute hunger came upon her to speak to Hardy, and presently those self-deceiving instincts which are always ready to furnish lovers with an excuse for meeting, presented one to her. She told herself—unconscious of a merely snatching at a pretext—that she must and would reveal the truth, and that before doing so she must tell Hardy that she renounced her promise. Into her heart crept the beginnings of a most consoling scheme. Somehow, this evening, it must be done. But who would help her? Who would bring Hardy to her, or take her to Hardy? Her eyes wandered round the hall and alighted upon Dr. King. No need to seek further. Dr. King would help her. She breathed freely again and began to listen to what Mr. Broughton was saying.Mr. Broughton had evidently learned his lesson very thoroughly. His statements hung together, and were not materially shaken. They were, indeed, so singularly parallel with the true facts that the path was not very difficult to keep. Still, when Serjeant Brown-low had his turn, some damaging points were made. Not even Mr. Broughton could venture to deny a fact so patent as his own persistent courtship of Caroline. He dealt with it, however, so skilfully as to show that some brain more acute than his had helped to concoct this case. It was true, he owned, that in his despair he had used violent expressions; he did not deny that he was a man of warm temper. But, as he believed was often the case with that disposition, he was neither calculating nor revengeful. He had at once left Sussex; if he had seriously intended any harm to Lord Pevensey he would have stayed. He had met Captain Hardy by chance, and when the infamous scheme was communicated to him, had never a moment's temptation to enter into it. Quite a plausible figure was presented to the jury of the plain, rough, country gentleman, passionate but generous.Lord Pevensey turned upon Mr. Masterton a disturbed glance.The experienced solicitor whispered with a reassuring nod: "The jury are Sussex men."By the time that Broughton's evidence was concluded, the afternoon was well advanced and the proceedings were adjourned till next day.As the leading actors emerged, Lord Pevensey almost ostentatiously pushed his way to Hardy's side, and shook hands with him before the eyes of the public. Caroline was no less busy in getting speech with the Rector."If I might speak to you presently, at our lodging, Dr. King, I should be obliged,"she said to him in an agitated and hurried voice.Dr. King was now, as ever, Miss Dalyn-grange's servant, and would call upon her within the next half-hour.Caroline went home almost happy, and Mrs. Duncombe said by-and-by to Anne that it rejoiced her to see Caroline so little disturbed by these unpleasant passages.XXIIIIN the parlour of her lodging, Caroline made her appeal to the Rector."Dr. King, I must see Captain Hardy before to-morrow morning, and I wish to do so as privately as possible.""My dear Miss Dalyngrange!" said the Rector, startled. "Is it really necessary? Will it be of service to Gilbert's case?""Oh, I hope so—I hope so.""In that case——" he began slowly."Indeed, I must see him," cried Caroline. "If I ask him to come here it will excite all sorts of curiosity and questioning. I hoped you would perhaps permit me to meet him at the house where you are staying."Dr. King, it appeared, was a guest of the Vicar of St. Michael's."And, as it happens, Gilbert is to dine with us. The Vicar has a service this evening. You might, no doubt, step over with your maid. 'Tis but a street's length.""I will come," said Caroline,"and I thank you most heartily. There is no need to tell Captain Hardy beforehand."The three ladies sat down to dinner. Lord Pevensey, who thought it politic to offer Caroline no opportunity of retracting, had allowed himself to be engaged for the evening by some gentlemen of East Sussex.Towards the close of the meal, Caroline informed her companions that Dr. King had kindly arranged for her to meet a person whom she desired to see in connection with the trial, and that she was going, therefore, after dinner, to the vicarage of St. Michael's."I earnestly hope," said Mrs. Duncombe,"that 'tis the person who brought you Captain Hardy's message, and that you will insist upon being allowed to make the particulars public."Caroline hesitated, found no fitting reply, and remained silent.Anne, knowing what she knew, kept her eyes upon her plate.After dinner Caroline listened until the bells of St. Michael's had ceased to ring, and then, going quietly from the room, summoned Dorcas, assumed a hooded cloak and went out into the darkening street.Very few minutes brought them to the vicarage door, where Caroline, saying that Dr. King would be good enough to bring her back, dismissed her handmaiden.The door opened, and Caroline bade the Vicar's maid tell Dr. King that a lady wished to see him.The maid, young and rustic, opened a door in the hall and spoke into the room.Dr. King came quickly out.Caroline and he stood face to face in the hall, while the maid disappeared into the back parts of the house. Half unconsciously Caroline put up her hands to unfasten her cloak. The Doctor took it from her and laid it on the table."Shall I tell him you are here?" he asked."No," whispered Caroline.She advanced rather uncertainly towards the room door.Dr. King softly opened it for her, and softly closed it behind her.The room was a library; candles stood on the writing-table; a fire burned cheerfully on the hearth, and in one of two chairs before it sat Hardy, leaning back with one hand behind his head and one foot stretched forward on the fender. The light fell full upon his meditative profile.Caroline stood just within the door, contemplating him.Suddenly he seemed to become conscious of a presence. He turned sharply, a light of great joy flashed into his face, he sprang to his feet and cried out: "Miss Dalyngrange!"Caroline came slowly forward.She had perceived, all at once, that there was something else to be said before telling him that she would be bound no longer by her promise of silence.For a long moment they looked into each other's eyes, and speech seemed to become almost superfluous. She spoke, however."Before they condemn you or acquit you, I must tell you: I love you."She would have gone on; she had it in her mind to tell him how she knew that he scouted the thought of marriage with her, and how she cared for nothing but that he should know her heart.But no explanation of the kind arrived at utterance. Scarcely had the three vital words passed her lips before Hardy, with a cry of rapture, had caught her in his arms. Connected speech, connected thought, were arrested. For a moment she swam in boundless amazement, then an incoherent memory shot through her of that previous instant, so immeasurably different, in which they had clung together; then the world swung into place again and incredible happiness enfolded her.Not for several minutes did Caroline remember the second part of her errand."Now I may tell the truth to the whole world," she said at last."You will do no such thing," cried Hardy gaily. "I mean to be acquitted and we will keep the story to ourselves. Ah, how often have I lived that night and morning over again! I believe I remember every word you spoke.""What I remember," said Caroline,"is that you told me no force on earth would compel you to marry me—no, not though I should ask it.""God forgive me, for a fool and a braggart!" said Hardy, smiling.A recollection struck across. He stepped back."Lord Pevensey!" said he."I told Lord Pevensey, a month ago.""I might have guessed that you had told him," said Hardy, and added after an instant, "He has behaved very finely.""Yes," said Caroline. In her speech, too, came a break; then, in a lower tone she said: "I never loved him."For this information Hardy had clearly been quite unprepared. His face expressed profound emotion; his readiness of speech deserted him."I haven't deserved it," he said in a shaken voice.Caroline's voice shook a little, too, as she answered: "Lord Pevensey would never have said that—and perhaps that is the explanation."A clock struck slowly somewhere in the interior of the house, and startled her into recollection."Oh," she cried, "is it so late? Indeed, I must go. Will you call Dr. King?""Yes," said Hardy; but instead of going, came back to her, took her gently by both shoulders and kissed her.She, who wept so seldom, broke into sudden tears."These dreadful days!" she sobbed. "These dreadful days! I thought I should never speak to you again.""You have not said yet what I want you to say before you go."She smiled at him through her tears—an April Caroline whom imagination had never conceived."What do you want me to say?""I want you to call me by my name, so that when you are gone I can repeat that to myself, and be sure that it was no dream."To play, in fancy, with the name of even the man she loved was not in Caroline's character, and ' Gilbert' was not ready at her lips.It came, when at last she uttered it, so seriously, so tenderly that Hardy was almost awed and could find no word fit to follow. Shyness came upon him, for the first time, possibly, in his life.He opened the door in silence; in these new and strange depths of feeling he no longer even desired to retain her, but needed solitude in which to grow accustomed to the miracle.Caroline went out into the hall, and took up her cloak.Dr. King came forward from another room."I sent Dorcas home," said she, "reckoning upon your kindness to walk home with me."He reached his shovel hat with alacrity."Good night," said Caroline."Good night," said Hardy.Their hands met inexpressively. Emotion had outrun any further outward sign; the cup was too full for any other drop.In the parlour of their lodging Mrs. Duncombe and Anne were at cards. Upon Caroline's entrance they looked up, and Mrs. Duncombe said: "I hope, my dear, that you have been successful."Caroline stood still on the threshold."I—I hope so, ma'am," she answered, her voice fluttering as she spoke.She avoided meeting the good lady's inquiring glance; and Anne, tossing together the cards, cheerfully bade her cousin come and join in the game.Caroline sat down in silence. The cards flew out, bright splashes of colour, from beneath Anne's nimble fingers; the monotonous words of the game recurred; the cards were massed and divided and played out in succession, and behind the stages of the game, as behind a curtain, Caroline still listened to Hardy's voice with the new notes in it, and Anne listened to the voice of her surmises.XXIVA FINE south-west gale was blowing when the ladies and Lord Pevensey came, next morning, to the door of the Town Hall, and the red pavements of Lewes were washed clean by the sudden rain showers of the previous night. The air was clean, too, and inspiriting. Caroline, a daughter of this climate, breathed exhilaration in breathing it.All her burdens were gone. How was it possible, on such a morning as this, and after such an evening as yesterday, to believe in any terrors? She scarcely perceived the curious glances of which she was the centre and of which Lord Pevensey was so acutely conscious.The little party made its way to the foremost benches. Mr. Masterton saluted them, and Sir Austin Hardy found a place for himself behind Lord Pevensey and engaged him in whispered talk.The entrance of the prisoner drew from Caroline one fugitive glance; she looked down again, feeling the notion of danger more incredible than ever.Hardy brought into court this morning a face that would have become a bridegroom on his way to church. Serene contentment had obliterated the lines of fatigue and anxiety; he stood in the dock quietly radiant, inattentive to the slanders that were presently sworn against him, and never once daring to meet the eyes of Caroline.This demeanour, entirely spontaneous and uncalculated, did not fail to produce an effect. More than one of the jury told himself that no prisoner could look like this who did not possess overwhelming proofs of his innocence, and a similar reflection darkened the brow of Mr. Broughton's attorney. Lord Pevensey saw nothing in Hardy's air beyond the cheerful intrepidity of a courageous man; Lady Anne, alone, with four years of social experience behind her, and the recollection in mind of Caroline's recent expedition, formed a guess very near the truth. She glanced at Lord Pevensey, perceived him unsuspicious, and paid him the tribute of a compassionate sigh.The shepherd, Tooby, was the first witness, and swore stoutly to having seen Hardy among the gang of marauders marching towards Hoatham House. Cross-examination produced little effect upon this aged and stubborn rustic, whose Sussex drawl struck London ears with the note of an alien tongue.Pressure upon the point of identification led to a little interlude. Tooby was sure that he ' knowed Mas' Gilbert'; moreover, if he had failed to see his face he would have 'knowed' him by the old scar on the back of his hand.The eyes of a score of listeners turned upon Hardy's hands, lying loosely clasped on the rail before him; and a juror asked: "May we not see for ourselves, my lord, whether there is such a scar?"The prisoner was accordingly brought up to the jury box, and presented his left hand for inspection. In reply to some unheard question, he said audibly: "Of a burn, sir."A second juror observed that the scar seemed a small matter to be remarked at night, and a third inquired of the witness whether the party had lanterns.Tooby, having enjoyed a space for consideration, was ready with the statement that Hardy himself had carried a lantern in his right hand and that the light had fallen upon his left, as it held the reins.At the word ' burn,' Caroline had turned swiftly, and whispered a question to Sir Austin. He nodded. She spoke again, and a scrap of paper went travelling to Mr. Masterton, who having read it touched Serjeant Brownlow's elbow. The Serjeant took the paper, nodded in his turn, and again addressed himself to the witness."How did you know that Captain Hardy had the scar of a burn?""Everybody knowed that.""But how did you know it? Did you know how he came by it? ""'Twas done when Farmer Nye's stables were burned, a matter often years back.""But what had Captain Hardy to do with a fire at Farmer Nye's stables? ""Why, he went in, foolhardy like, when the place was all afire, to get the mare out."A hushed murmur of approval ran through the court. Even from the words of the adverse Tooby the defence had succeeded in extracting a favourable testimony. Caroline, gazing out on light streaks of ravelled cloud, saw before her the burst of flames against an evening sky, and a lad leading out a horse from a burning shed.The next witness was Daniel Southward, who having been charged together with Hardy and Gambling, was now seeking pardon and reward by denouncing both of them.Southward, a heavily built man of about forty, was a tenant of Broughton's, and described himself as a hedger and ditcher. His examination in chief ran glibly enough. He swore unhesitatingly that late on the night of the affray at Hoatham—at which he had been present—he with others had been engaged under Hardy's command, in conveying smuggled tea inland, to Rivelsfleld and Wateringham. He did not deny that he had once before been engaged in similar malpractices, but denied that he had ever been associated in them with Broughton.Serjeant Brownlow's cross-examination began, as usual, in no alarming fashion. He carried Southward though a brief catechism in which no dangerous facts were approached, and then, when the witness had acquired a certain degree of confidence, asked easily: "Do you happen to remember the second Saturday in March of this year? "Southward did not know as he did."But you remember, I suppose, that on a Saturday evening in last spring, certain tenants of Mr. Broughton's were overtaken by the excise officers and were afterwards tried and imprisoned?"Southward remembered that."Were any gentlemen with the excise officers?"Southward had heard so."Can you tell me who they were? ""I heerd say," replied the witness, after reflection, "as his young lordship was theer— Lord Pevensey.""Anybody else? ""Some said Captain Hardy was theer.""Did you not see Captain Hardy yourself?"Southward visibly started, and flung a glance at his interrogator."Who says I were theer?" he demanded."Nobody says so, at present. It is not my turn yet to call witnesses. But if any of my witnesses should say so, would it be false? ""Yes, it would," Southward declared, but so half-heartedly as rather to inspire doubt than conviction."But did you not tell Reuben Gambling that you were going, and threaten him with your vengeance and Mr. Broughton's vengeance if he failed to accompany you?""No, I never."Serjeant Brownlow ostentatiously lifted and consulted a paper that had been fastened with a large red seal. Raising his eyes from it he proceeded: "Then if Reuben Gambling gave to Miss Dalyngrange or to the Rector of Old Burling a written declaration that you did so, he wrote a false declaration—hey? "Southward, amassing negatives in the impressive ancient manner, did not know nothing about no declaration."Did you ever hear that Miss Dalyngrange warned Mr. Broughton that she had such a paper?""No," replied Southward, his eyes clinging to the document in his tormentor's hand.The Serjeant, still lightly waving the paper to and fro, proceeded: "Then you did not see Captain Hardy come forward to meet the band of smugglers and bid them give up their arms to him? "This artfully erroneous suggestion took the witness unawares."That was not what he said," he returned sharply."If I am mistaken, perhaps you will put me right," said the Serjeant, submissively."He said as how——" Southward began, and then saw the pitfall into which he had been seduced.He stopped short."Pray continue," said Serjeant Brownlow. "He said?——""I dunno what he said. I wasn't theer," Southward stammered."Oh, you were not there!" Serjeant Brownlow repeated, in a tone of smooth incredulity."Then we must wait," he added after a moment, "for Lord Pevensey to tell the jury what Captain Hardy said, and what men he saw present. Now let us come to another point. Do you know what is the reward promised by the law to an accused person who gives evidence against other accused persons so that two or more of them are convicted of smuggling? ""I have heerd say it was fifty pounds.""And you expect to receive that sum?"Southward did not know."Who told you about the reward?""I don't know as I can say.""Try and recollect. Was it not Mr. Broughton?""Well, yes, it were.""Before he brought the charge against you?"Southward hesitated, face to face with a dilemma."Surely the question cannot be very difficult to answer. You have been in gaol ever since you were charged before the justices at Rivelsfield. Has Mr. Broughton ever been to see you in Lewes gaol? ""No," answered Southward, who perceived the futility of lying upon this point."Then if Mr. Broughton told you, it must have been before you were charged that he did so. Was it before, yes or no? ""Yes, sir," said Southward, in manifest terror."Where were you when he told you?"Southward looked this way and that."Do not look to Mr. Broughton for instructions. All you have to do is to tell the truth; surely that is not so difficult. Where were you when Mr. Broughton informed you that you might get a reward, by allowing yourself to be charged and then offering evidence against Captain Hardy and Gambling?""It was in the meadow behind the orchards at Pallavere House. I was clearing out the ditch, and the squire came through the orchard, with his gun in his hand, and spoke to me. It was the next day after Hoatham House was broke into.""Did he promise you anything besides the reward?""No—no, sir.""Did he threaten you with any ill consequences if you refused? ""He told me he was going to London to have Captain Hardy charged, and that he should put in my name and Reuben's, but I could save myself, if I chose, by swearing against the others.""You confess, then, that at Mr. Broughton's suggestion, you agreed to bear false witness against these two men? "Serjeant Compton intervened with a protest against the word ' false.'"If Mr. Broughton did urge this man to save himself by giving evidence against the others, he was but doing the part of a good citizen. The laws of our country encourage the giving of such evidence, and Serjeant Brownlow has no right to suggest that the evidence was to be other than true."Serjeant Brownlow at once retracted."I admit that I went too far in using the word, at present. I will merely ask you, Southward, whether at the suggestion of Mr. Broughton, your landlord, you undertook to bear witness against your neighbours, Reuben Gambling and Gilbert Hardy?"Southward, now very much on his guard, and unwilling to admit anything at all, was constrained to acknowledge that he had so undertaken."I have only one more question to ask of you," proceeded the cross-examiner. "Mr. Broughton told you what reward you might obtain by securing the conviction of your fellow-prisoners. Did he also tell you what is the punishment of perjury? ""No, sir," said Southward, much alarmed.Serjeant Brownlow stood looking at him for a moment in silence. Then: "I advise you to inquire," said he, coldly, and sat down.Serjeant Compton, observing the evident trepidation of the witness, did not think well to re-examine him, but called James Welfare, the innkeeper of Storthing. From him were elicited the facts of Hardy's arrival on a tired horse, of his taking Welfare's chestnut and of his bringing back the beast next morning with a strained leg. All this Welfare admitted grudgingly. He, like most of Hardy's country neighbours, had a kindness for him, and under cross-examination grew communicative.Yes, he had known both Mr. Broughton and Captain Hardy as boys.No, he had never had any reason to suppose Captain Hardy concerned in smuggling, and he did not believe it now."Have any of your neighbours ever mentioned such a suspicion to you?""Never a one on 'em.""And Mr. Broughton—have you heard any such rumours about him? ""Why, it was the common talk of the place, sir. Everybody believed it, only they was afeared to say it out. It is not a lucky thing, sir, in our parts, to displease Mr. Broughton. There was more 'n one said things would go ill with Captain Hardy after his talking to the men to give up peaceful like to the excisemen."Serjeant Brownlow sat down; the jury looked at one another, and Compton, dreading to leave this answer for the witness's last word hastened to ask another question or two, and then called Susan Wisdom.Mr. Masterton smiled to himself. He had interviewed this witness long before his adversaries had discovered her, and was perfectly aware that those who called her did not know all that she could tell.The dark-eyed Susan, of the Greyhound, large, calm, and comely, responded tranquilly to Compton's inquiries. She was an upper servant at the Greyhound Inn in Croydon. She remembered Captain Hardy's coming to that house on September 10th. He came in a chaise, breakfasted, and about midday, hired a horse and rode on. He brought back the horse the next evening.The first question of Serjeant Brownlow was whether she was certain of Hardy's identity—a question which enabled her to reply that she had seen him before and had paid special heed to him on account of having had a cousin at the siege of Gibraltar, "a gunner, he was, if you please, sir, a Rivelsfield lad, and Captain Hardy being from the same part, like, took notice of him and went to see him when he got hurt."She went on to recount how Hardy set her to keep watch for Broughton, how Broughton went by, and how Hardy instantly rode after him.Broughton and his lawyer looked upon each other with considerable apprehension. This was the last of their witnesses. The post-boy they had not dared to call, lest he should reveal the fact that not Hardy but Broughton had originally bespoken the chaise."Your brother may thank Heaven, Sir Austin, for his friendly disposition," said Mr. Masterton, as the spectators slowly edged themselves towards the door of the Town Hall. "That innkeeper and that woman have served us better than if we had called them."They had come now to the steps, and a man who seemed to be a porter or doorkeeper came after them."Are you the prisoner's lawyer, sir? Then I was to give you this."Mr. Masterton opened a folded paper, gave a sharp exclamation, and crying, "Your servant, Sir Austin!" sprang down the last couple of steps and went hurrying away up the steep street.XXVLORD PEVENSEY, having dined, sat alone in his room, at the best of Lewes's inns, and listened idly to the sudden gusts of rain against the window. A good fire burned on the hearth; candles stood on the mantelshelf, and candles beside the wine on the table; a pleasant foretaste of winterly comfort breathed through the room.A servant announced Captain Hardy.Lord Pevensey, with a civil greeting, went forward to meet his visitor.Hardy advanced slowly towards the fire."My lord," said he, "from the moment of our first meeting you have shown me nothing but friendship, and have done me many services, and now I find myself about to do you an injury."Lord Pevensey prepared himself to hear that the story of the night in the ruins was to be revealed."You must have guessed, I think," said Hardy, "that I have not ceased to love Miss Dalyngrange. God knows, I had no design of ever telling her so. But last night we met, and——"His voice dropped to notes of deep emotion, the wonder of that recollection vibrating still, " and I know that she loves me."He paused.Lord Pevensey, on the other side of the fire stood perfectly still, his downcast eyes intent upon the hearth-rug.The pause seemed very long."I know," said Hardy humbly, "that she is not choosing the better man."Still Lord Pevensey did not speak. The whole force of his self-contained incommunicative temperament was bent to preserve a stoical front and to permit himself no mean word or thought. But behind his resolve all sorts of images danced in phantasmagoric panorama—the duel to which he might call Hardy, the scathing words whose utterance he might easily justify to himself, the horrible emptiness of his own future. Firmly he shut the door upon them all. Not until by-and-by, in solitude, would he admit the rush of bitterness. Meanwhile, pain should not degrade him to injustice. He mastered his own voice and said steadily: "I am obliged to you for your frankness. She has dealt no less openly. Though I am wounded, I am not wronged."And with an effort, of which Hardy, whose self-unconsciousness gave him insight, partly divined the pang, he lifted his arm and held out his hand across the hearth-rug. It was Hardy's hand, not his, that shook.Further speech must have had its difficulties for either of them; fate spared them the necessity.Steps came hastily to the door, knuckles rapped hard upon it, the voice of Mr. Masterton cried: "May I come in? Is Captain Hardy here? " and almost before an answer had been uttered, the solicitor hurried in."Great news!" he exclaimed. "With whom, gentlemen, do you suppose that I have been? I have been in Lewes gaol with Southward. He has made a full confession. He will be our first witness to-morrow, and by midday you will stand acquitted.Hardy gave a gasp of relief. The thought sprang up instantly in his heart: "I can go and tell her.""Sit down, Mr. Masterton," said Lord Pevensey, "and let me give you some wine, while you tell us all the story."Unsuspicious, the worthy man sat down, and poured his tale—his tale upon which the liberties of men depended—into ears that scarcely heeded.Very soon Hardy rose, the image of Caroline growing urgent beyond resistance."Good night, my lord," said he."Good night," returned Lord Pevensey, and again their hands met. This time their eyes met too, and Hardy read that the other knew whither his steps were bent."I congratulate you, Captain Hardy," said Lord Pevensey; and Hardy went out into the wind and rain, bearing with him the vision of a pale, controlled face and steady eyes.Again, in all sincerity, he thought to himself, ' She is not choosing the better man.'Lord Pevensey, alone and desolate by the inn hearth, with the ashes of his hopes around him, had a moment in which he told himself the same thing.The ladies were sitting together, busied with various trivial occupations, when they were informed that Captain Hardy was asking for Miss Dalyngrange.Caroline looked up, her colour heightened and her eyes shining."Ask him to walk in," said she.Hardy came into the circle of the candle-light, and at the sight of his face each of the women knew his errand was no common one.None of them, not even Mrs. Duncombe, noticed, and he himself did not know, that he neither bowed nor uttered any form of greeting.He came straight to Caroline."Southward has confessed," said he. "The trial is over."Anne gave a little outcry of pleasure.Mrs. Duncombe uttered some murmur of congratulation, but the sounds died on her lips, and she sank back in her chair, overwhelmed. The countenances of Caroline and of Hardy, as they stood face to face, absorbed in each other, beyond any need, apparently, of words, imparted a revelation compared with which the result of the trial was but a trifle.The pause seemed endless—a gulf. Anne felt herself reduced to a mere straw on the outer currents of the world's atmosphere, and Mrs. Duncombe had time to remember how terribly she was shocked."Caroline!" she cried. "Caroline, my dear! "Caroline slowly turned to her, and slowly smiled.Hardy was recalled to earth."Mrs. Duncombe," said he, "you must forgive us for betraying what should have been told you with all proper formalities. It is more than a month since Miss Dalyngrange broke with Lord Pevensey, and yesterday she gave her promise to me. I have this moment come from Lord Pevensey."Mrs. Duncombe, overwhelmed and scandalised, was for some seconds absolutely mute; and Anne, coming forward, intervened."Captain Hardy," said she, "have you remembered to send the news to Mrs. Gambling?""No," said Hardy, conscience-struck."We will see to it," said Anne. "Come, ma'am, you will speak to Dorcas, will you not, and send her at once to poor Mrs. Gambling?"She slipped her hand with gentle decision through Mrs. Duncombe's arm, and drew her from the room."So you told Lord Pevensey?" said Caroline. The ordeal of that communication had loomed dark before her."To be sure," said Hardy. "What else could I do? And before I sleep I shall write to Mr. Shirley."He will be much displeased.""I suppose so. Any guardian would of course prefer Lord Pevensey.""I must point out to him," said Caroline, "that after throwing away so good a match, I must be considered lucky in finding a husband at all. And I shall tell him that I have been constant to you for ten years.""Ten years! Had you seen me ten years ago? "She touched the white scar that had been so much discussed."I saw you first when you did that; and I was the little girl who gave you her tippet."A few hours later Anne came into her cousin's room, and having dismissed Dorcas, embraced Caroline warmly."Well, my dear," said she, "I give you joy. You have taken the right man—for you. And as for Lord Pevensey——""Oh, Anne, shall I ever forgive myself? And he has behaved so generously! ""Yes," said Anne, judicially, and paused."But, you see,—the other—touched my imagination when I was quite a child, and so, when we met again——""Indeed? " said Anne, with interest, and added, after a moment: "Perhaps that is the way with our family."Again she fell into silence, and presently asked abruptly: "Did Lord Pevensey ever tell you that he was tempted to wish for Captain Hardy's conviction?""No, never," cried Caroline, indignant. "I cannot believe he ever had so cruel a thought."Anne smiled to herself, and made no protestation.A little shower of embers dropped into the fender, and the room grew darker. The hour of eleven began to strike quickly or slowly from all the clocks of Lewes."You need not be so sorry for Lord Pevensey," said Anne. "You and he would never have been really happy; and now, perhaps——""What do you mean? " cried Caroline, trying to see her face. But Anne's face was turned away."I mean," said she, over her shoulder, "that he is the best of us all, and that he deserves to have a wife that loves him."With that, she walked quickly out of the room, and going to her own, shed, within its retirement, some tears of sympathy for Lord Pevensey.Presently, like the shrewd and reasonable creature that she was, she dried them, and looked forward, both for him and for herself."After all," she reflected, in her last waking moment, "this is best for him, too,—and some day he will tell me so."And Anne was right. But the marriage of Lord Pevensey has no place in the history of Caroline. Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. Advert included in back of Black's "Caroline Advert included in back of Black's "Caroline" Advert included in back of Black's "Caroline" Advert included in back of Black's "Caroline"