around shall not know from me that I have not | ral, was it not, Edward, that your mother should asked you about some young lady-Miss Phoebe, perhaps. Fear no outbreak of mine-you, at least, need fear none. But understand all the time that the hold is not to be broken, Edward." She said this slowly, almost playfully. And then she rose, threw some more perfumed water on his handkerchief, and left the room without taking any further notice of Mr. Abbott. "A pleasant suggestion, Edward, that you should draw her to you by the hair, as if she were some young and pretty girl on whom you were on the best flirting terms." "That was not quite the spirit," said Edward, whose instinctive sense led him to reject the interpretation the now incensed Mr. Abbott chose to put upon her words. "But I am as likely to do it in one sense as the other—a woman whose presence is a sorrow to my mother. Are we to say more now about, this matter ?" "I believe that I must have some words with the Rector, and though they will be most disagreeable words, I see no escape. If this blackhaired woman speaks the truth-but we shall Edward, amidst all her insolence she said one good thing. It hinted at riches and good fortune for you." see. "What was that?" “ Phoebe.” CHAPTER LIX. THE NEWS SPREAD S. "PHOBE!" For some time after the lawyer had left him the word seemed to convey no meaning to Edward Grafton. But when the purport of Mr. Abbott's hint reached Edward's mind the incongruity of the idea with the thoughts that were then agitating him was so strange that it forced from him a short and savage laugh. come to you as soon as you had been told what must happen? You have not let us see much of you lately, and out of the few hours that are left do be with me as many as you can. God only knows what our future life will be, and whether we shall ever be together again! But go now, if you must, and come back soon." She threw her arms round him, kissed him affectionately, and went away. He did not notice that as she went she took up a trifling article from his desk-it was only a little pen-wiper that she had given him-and carried it away with her, to keep as a tiny memento of his home-mothers do these silly things, and when mothers are gone to heaven, and their hoards are ransacked, there is wonder why such bits of rubbish have been put away, and there is no one in this world who can say. "I can not sit here," he said. "I must go into the town. I must hear something. I wonder'who attends them-I think it is Beccles. If I could see him!" The He left the Rectory, and went into Naybury, avoiding the short way across the fields and getting into the high-road as soon as possible. It much lengthened the walk, which annoyed him, but he could not again pass the cottages. people of Naybury were not much given to walking outside the town-the scenery was uninviting, and at stated intervals a flood of noisy, slatternly, depraved work-girls was let loose upon the roads, and their talk, at its mildest, was not for the ears of decent women. It was only a few of the stronger-minded ladies, who visited the poor, and otherwise did good according to their abilities, who were often to be met in the neighborhood. As it chanced, this was a visiting-day with two or three of the ladies of Dorcas, and Edward Grafton, who on an ordinary occasion would have leaped a gate to get out of the way of any of the more distinguished of that association, was actually glad to see Mrs. It was heard by his mother, who was coming Mainwaring and Mrs. Cutcheon, two of its most to his room. "I do not like to hear such a laugh as that, Edward. It sounds as if you were not ready to meet our troubles as they should be met, dear. But perhaps Mr. Abbott has been painting them in blacker colors than was necessary. It is certain that we shall have sacrifices to make; but the heaviest of them is that we must part from you-for a time." "That you must, mother. else to care about it." There is no one "Edward, you are inclined to wrong your father to undervalue his affection for you-his pride in you. He never was one to make much show of regard, but he has far deeper feeling than you suppose. And I am sure, dear, that it is not in the hour of his trouble that you will let him see that you are cold toward him." "I will be all you wish, mother-let us say no more about this. Had you any thing to tell me-as if not, I ought to go out?" shining and disagreeable lights, making their way along the dusty road. 66 They are gossips," he said—it may be that he used up, in their honor, some word he should have left behind him at Cambridge-" and they may know something." So he saluted them gravely, as became a clergyman, and the ladies were in nowise reluctant to chat. It is uncharitable to suppose that they sought to entangle him in his talk, but as spiritual police the leading Dorcasians held themselves bound to hear as much as they could. After a few harmless exchanges, Edward said, "Do you happen to know, Mrs. Mainwaring, whether Mr. Beccles is about the town today?" "I rather think so. I hope that nobody at the Rectory requires his services." "Thanks, no; I only wanted to ask him a question." "I think I saw him riding up the hill," said "Then I will not detain you. It was natu- Mrs. Cutcheon, "about an hour ago." "Ah! then he would be going into the country." "Well, not necessarily. He might be going to call on your friends at Marley House," said Mrs. Cutcheon, with an emphasis on the last pronoun. "Is any one ill there ?" asked Edward. hope not. "You are disinclined to believe that I do not understand you," said Edward Grafton; "but it is true." "I almost think it is," said Mrs. Cutcheon, her yellowish eyes gleaming with a cat-like pleasure at her being able to pounce on him "I with a piece of news. 'Divorce," she whispered, darting at him as she spoke, and then drawing back to survey the effect. "I have not heard so," said Mrs. Cutcheon, "but it would not surprise me to hear that Mr. Beccles had been wanted. But we need not talk of such things to unmarried gentlemen." "I was not aware-" said Edward Grafton. A thought which need not be written came upon him, and he flushed, and almost trembled. His companions, of course, with their sharp, matronly eyes, noted the first sign, but his agitation escaped them. He might, perhaps, have been commended for blushing-that kind of jest came within the license as well as the taste of the Dorcas ladies-but Mrs. Cutcheon was too eager for other sport to indulge in playfulness. She chose to misunderstand him. "No, I suppose not," she said. "That kind of business is seldom talked about, and I must say that at Marley House they understand how to keep their own secrets. Still, it is known, as such things must be." "Mr. Grafton knows, I make no doubt," said Mrs. Mainwaring, "and it is natural that as a friend of the family he should assume ignorance. I am glad to see that he has so much discretion." "I fear we are at cross purposes, Mrs. Mainwaring," said Edward, irritated at their talk, but aware that to show irritation would defeat his object. "Well, remember that you heard nothing from me," said Mrs. Cutcheon. "Divorce! Who-which-I mean, of course -Mrs. Dormer asks to be divorced? You must be in a grievous error." "You like him so much, you think so well of him?" said Mrs. Cutcheon, playing with her victim. "I may not think highly of him; but what you assert is impossible, Mrs. Cutcheon." "I have asserted nothing-please remember that; I only tell you what is said. And I agree with you that what you suggest about your friend Mr. Dormer would be impossible; because to get rid of a husband he must not only be an immoral man, but a cruel one, according to our beautiful and humane laws. Now, Mr. Dormer may be the one-I know nothing about him; but I do not believe that he is the other." "He divorces her, they say," said Mrs. Mainwaring, in the most unfair and unchristianlike manner cutting in, and defrauding her friend of the pleasure of telling the story to which she had been leading up. But her friend was equal to the occasion. "At least Mrs. Mainwaring says so." "I, my dear! I know it from you only,' said the other lady, frightened; for Edward Grafton's look became actually savage. "It must be a cruel falsehood!" he said. "But is there any thing to hear?" replied Edward, trying to conceal his exceeding anxiety. “I will call at Marley House; that will be the best way of my hearing it." He knew that he dared not, but they could not know that. "Yes, you can call there," said Mrs. Cutch-duct." eon; "but you will not be told much; and you will not see the lady herself." "Mrs. Conway ?" "Any of my friends who speak in that way will do well to speak out of my hearing," said Edward Grafton; "but," he added, "you have "Mrs. Dormer. She is not allowed to see startled me so by this story that you must exany body." "But I shall see Mrs. Conway." 66 Yes," replied Mrs. Cutcheon, with a short laugh, while her friend merely smiled. Edward felt that he could gladly fling both of the excellent women under the wheels of the wagon which was just then passing, and whose noise stopped the conversation. It was soon resumed. "Be very careful in what you say to Mrs. Conway," said Mrs. Mainwaring. "She is a very attached mother, and I make no doubt is plunged into the utmost grief by what we have heard of. Above all, make no allusion to legal proceedings. It will be time enough to talk about those when they are announced in the papers." S cuse my vehemence. The thing is outrageous -it is out of the question!" "In that case," said Mrs. Cutcheon, coolly, "it will fall to the ground, and we shall know that there was nothing in it; and I am sure we shall all rejoice. But in the mean time it is quite certain that Mr. Dormer has caused a notice to be served upon Mrs. Dormer, and that it had to be done through a window, because such precautions were taken to avoid it." "The hag has told the truth!" said Edward, walking away without another word. "Well!" said Mrs. Cutcheon. "That young man's insolence can only be accounted for by madness," said Mrs. Mainwaring. "What he said to dear Mrs. Bulliman was bad enough; but that he should in the public road call you a hag, is beyond bearing. | thought that they did. But, in spite of their Of course you will make Mr. Cutcheon take no- tongues and their scandals, they had no more tice of it." real intention of stopping the potatoes than they "But I do not think that he meant the word had of stopping the railway train which at that for me," said Mrs. Cutcheon. "Who then ?" said her friend. "For you, my dear. It was you who used the word divorce as against Mrs. Dormer, you know. You were in such a hurry to tell the tale yourself that you forgot all precaution, and if there should be nothing in the matter Mr. Mainwaring may have to account to Mr. Dormer. You should be more careful of your tongue, dear. I know that you mean well, but you know what James says of your unruly member." James happened to be Mr. Cutcheon's Christian name, and it did not occur to the rebuked Mrs. Mainwaring that her friend was alluding to a much higher authority-an illustration of the occasional inconvenience caused by the evangelical habit of omitting the reverent prefix. moment left Naybury, taking Mr. Conway to London. The last scene with Magdalen had settled Mr. Conway's determination. The letter which had dropped from her lifeless hands had been read and reread, but it defied interpretation by her parents. Only they caught at her words, “any thing against Ernest." There was something against him, then, or their child thought so, and he was neglecting her. Even Mrs. Conway could no longer oppose her husband's journey. "But you will be gentle with him, William? Do not let us think of our own just anger, but of her happiness.” "You have my promise." Mr. Beccles had been sent for, and had arrived. He looked very grave when he caught sight of Magdalen, to whom he was much at "Mr. James Cutcheon will be well to mind his own business," said the incensed Mrs. Main-tached. waring. "I have read something about those who can not guide their own households, yet assume other duties." "I alluded to the apostle, Mrs. Mainwaring." "Very well," said Mrs. Mainwaring; "then I shall be obliged by your abstaining from alluding to the apostles in reference to me. Such things are quite uncalled for." "My dear," said Mrs. Cutcheon, who enjoyed her double victory, and could afford to keep her temper, "injustice is unworthy of you as a lady, not to say one who knows better things. Mr. Grafton called you a hag-do not vent your illtemper on me. "I believe that he meant nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Mainwaring. "The whole detail of the story was guess; and besides, it stands to reason that such a term, coarse and offensive as it was, of course should be applied to a person advanced in years rather than to the middle-aged." "Yes, my dear. But when you talk about middle age, do you know what Mr. Fanshaw said?" "I neither know nor care." "He said that somebody's still pretending to middle age reminded him of a good specimen of medieval brass. I would not repeat such a thing to any body else, and I don't like Mr. Fanshaw; but it was rather clever." The debate might have been protracted, but providentially a poor girl came up who had absented herself from the Sunday-school, and the energies of the serious matrons were turned into another direction, and with effect; for the girl went away soon afterward howling dismally at the thought of the spiritual, and still more at that of the temporal, penalties with which she had been threatened. She would come under a judgment for neglecting her opportunities of saving her soul, and her mother's allowance of potatoes should certainly be stopped. Whether they believed that the first event would happen it is hard to say they, perhaps, His orders, of course, were such as would have prevented the parents from allowing her to say a word to them on the one subject next their hearts. But Magdalen had no speech for them. She was removed to her bed, and, save for a short low moaning which she uttered at intervals, after her recovery from her first insensibility, she gave few signs of life. But Mr. Beccles gave the judgment, without which Mr. Conway would not have left the house. The doctor saw no reason against the journey; he was a man of few words, but they were trustworthy. With a heavy heart, therefore, Mr. Conway went up to town. He drove to the club, to ascertain Ernest's address. It was given him on his mentioning his relationship, and that there was illness at home. "But perhaps he is here ?" He was not there; he had not been there for several days, and there were letters for him, which, perhaps, Mr. Conway would mention. The porter took them from the pigeon-hole, and mentioned their number. One of them Mr. Conway instantly recognized as the packet which poor Magdalen had sent off in his presence. "He has not even fetched her letters," thought the father. "I will take them to him, "I am going direct to if you please," he said. his hotel." The trusty official hesitated. "I have no orders, Sir," he said, "and though I have no doubt that it would be all right-" "True. Is Mr. Mangles here?" "I think not, Sir, but I will inquire." "Mr. Mangles is not in the house, I know," said a gentleman who just then came down; "I am going to meet him; shall I take your card ?" he added, seeing that the inquirer was the sort of person to whom instinct tells one that it will be safe and pleasant to be civil. 66 6 Mr. Conway, Naybury.' Oh, I know that Mangles will be very much vexed to have missed you!" "I might give this gentleman Mr. Dormer's letters, Sir ?" "Of course you may. Certainly. My name ble. Then there were new books about, and is Launceston," said the member, raising his men picked up material for talk elsewhere, eshat; "I need not say that yours is well known pecially with the aid of the host, who was a sort to several of us. So well that I may almost of cyclopædia, with the added advantage of inventure to ask after Mrs. Dormer, though I have stantly affording you an answer, instead of madnot the honor of her acquaintance." dening you by desiring you to inquire elsewhere. "She is very ill, I am grieved to say," said Altogether, one of Mangles's evenings at home Mr. Conway. 66 was about as rational a contrivance for getting May I hope not ill enough to have caused over a few hours more of this miserable life as your journey to town ?" "Indeed-yes," said Mr. Conway, with emotion. Remember that he was not now a man of society, and he had suddenly come off a solitary ride and into a fine house, where the mention of his name instantly brought him kindness, and where the very first comer had a kind word for him about his child. All men's nerves are not in the same order. "Several men-though not known to you, Mr. Conway-will be much pained at hearing this. You are going to Ernest, of course; have you a cab? Can we send round and see whether he is there?" "Thanks; I will take my chance." The younger man held the door open for the elder one, and followed him to the carriage. "Ernest must let us hear, Mr. Conway," said Charles Launceston, earnestly, as he again raised his hat. a rational man could desire. And he sorted his guests a little, not in the absurd way in which some well-meaning folks do it, namely, that of asking men of similar tastes, as they call it (as if two men's tastes were ever really similar), whereby having bored yourself in your own vocation, actual or supposed, all day, you are bored again by talking about it all night. He threw together perhaps a reading man, and a talking man, and a medicine man, and a horsey man, and all went away with something new in their heads, and each convinced that he had been the soul of the party. And then Mangles rewarded himself-he held that it was quite worth while to give a party for the sake of the one cigar after every body was gone. It was to one of these parties that he had courteously bidden Charles Launceston, who had instantly thrown over a dinner in Harley Street to which he had been engaged for three weeks. "That looks bad," said Launceston to him- How men can do these things, which can not self, re-entering the house. "Why needed the be done without one frightful falsehood, and father to come up to town, when there are tele- without exciting wrath in persons who meant graph wires that would have brought the mes- civilly, is a question for the moralist; and let sage instantly? There is something wrong. him who has always kept an engagement that By Jove, too, I don't know what business I had bored him, when tempted by an engagement to let the porter give him the letters! I may that would not bore him, say something very have done ever so much mischief. But he strong about selfish and ungentlemanly conduct. looked so good that it never crossed my mind The sentiments will do him honor, and be all that it might not be well to let him have them. right; but men will be missed from genteel One was a big one, in a woman's hand too. By parties yet, and not be found in the beds to Jove! I have been an ass for the fiftieth time which they unblushingly state that they have this week. Some weeks a man does nothing been driven by influenza. The superior moelse but asinine things; perhaps there's some- rality of married men prevents their often doing thing of transmigration in it. I'll ask Mangles. this sort of thing unless their wives are very I am awfully sorry that poor little woman is so good-natured indeed. Yet there be wives who ill, and no doubt the circumstances have a great are gentle enough to remember that man works Ideal to do with it. If she should die I know hard and life is short, and one evening of boreone or two men who ought to be hit hard. Wait- dom can never be reprieved, and they will sail er, a glass of sherry and bitters." into the greatest circle with the most unblushing effrontery, and with the saddest face tell the saddest story about poor Charles, or poor Reginald, who is totally unfit to come out—a story? no, it is true; for a man can not come out in the slippers and shooting-coat in which he is entertaining his college friend who has run up from his Devonshire curacy. But such wives are gems, and should be treasured like unto gems-nay, their price is far above carbuncles. Launceston was engaged to dine with Mangles in chambers. These little gatherings were not to be despised. There was no attempt at high art cookery, but there were, perhaps, four things, each the best that could be got for money, and each from the house noted for giving best value for money. All was as simple as the nature of the dish permitted-some call a rich and elaborate pudding with meat and three kinds of birds in it, and kidneys, simple-but all was admirable, and Mangles's wines were unexceptionable. Proof that the repast was digestible, and that the liquids were wholesome, was found in the fact that when his guests got to cards, as they did very soon after dinner, they never wrangled over their game, and even occasionally allowed that their partner's play was not altogether intolera As he walked off to Lincoln's Inn Fields Charley Launceston remembered that he had two things to say-one was to tell the other fellows not to mention that he had dined there, the other to tell Mangles about Mr. Conway. He did both. "Nothing surprises me, you know, Charley," said Mangles, drawing his friend to the mantle Rydon, piece, "after the Wigram business. It was so countenance; but I'll do as you say. you look pensive. Repent and reform. Doddy, "Who thinks of him? I believe, by-theway, that he is a worse fellow than any of us thought. I don't want to talk before these chaps; but you stay them out, and I'll tell you something that will make your hair curl." "I don't care much about that," said Launceston, aloud, "because curly hair wouldn't suit my But So laughed Ernest Dormer's friends. there was no smile on his own face just then, any more than in that of the sorrowful old man who had made his way to Ernest's room, and had found him leaning on a table, with his head in his hands, and so deep in thought of her that he did not hear the entrance of Her Father. HER FATHER. |