Mrs. Falchion, Volume 2_

eriences are of the least account, I shall record them first: they will at least throw a little light on the history of peop

ine of steamers running between England and the West Indies. The letter was brusque, incisive, and forceful, and declared that, once he got his foot firmly planted in his new position, he would get married and be done with it. He said

racted from

age. You are a perfect baby in some things. Don't you know that the time a woman most yearns for a man is when she has refused him? And Clovelly is here on the ground, and they are in the same set, and though I'd take my oath she would be loyal to you if you were ten thousand miles

ver did more than gently smile. "See here," he said ever so candidly of Clovelly's best character, a serious, inscrutable kind of a man, the dignified figure in the book-"I liked the way you drew that muff. He was such an awful outsider, wasn't he? All talk, and hypocrite down to his heels. And when you married him to that lady who nibbled her food in public and gorged in the back pantry, and went 'slumming' and made shoulder-strings for the parson-oh, I know the kind!"- [This was Clovelly's her

der on his success as a lecturer in London (pretty true, by the way), and congratulated Blackburn on his coming marriage with Mrs. Callendar, the Ta

w she saw something of him while she was in London, because her quarters were next to those of my aunt the dowager (whose heart the gods soften at my wedding!) in Queen Anne's Mansions, S.W., and who actually liked Mrs. F., called on her, and asked her to dinner, and Roscoe too, whom she met at her place. I

ever heard of or seen

Aden and gave the w

her wedding-if she e

e there

ant service. In a storm a disaster occurred to his vessel, his captain was washed overboard, and he was obliged to take command. His skill, fortitude, and great manliness, under tragical circumstances, sent his name booming round the world;

ship of Blackburn and Mrs. Callendar was as amusing as her description of an evening which the bookmaker had spent with her father, when he said he was going to marry an actress whom he had seen at Drury Lane Theatre in a racing drama. This he subsequent

nge out of life; even though she runs straight, and wins straight every time; till she breaks her heart one day over a lost race. After th

. Falchion's presence in the Rocky Mountains. There was a strange destiny in it all, and I had no pleasant anticipations about the end; for, even

t the time she was most touched by the accident, I think her feeling of horror at it made her appear to speak in a way which showed her unpleasantly to Mr. Devlin and his daughter. It may be, however, tha

ate. By a singular chance the first morning lesson was David's lamentation for Saul and Jonathan. Roscoe had a fine voice. He read easily, naturally-like a cultivated layman, not like a clergyman; like a man who wished to convey the simple meaning of what he read, reverentl

ess that he hath committed, and doeth that which i

ttracted the attention of every one, and h

is slain upon thy hi

y fal

up at first, as I uncharitably put it then, to disconcert him, she drew it rather quickly down as his reading proceeded; but, so far as I could see, she never took her eyes

tion with Phil's death, but there was a kind of simple grandeur, and certainly

from Bozrah? . . . travelling in the greatness of his s

impossible to resist the wholesome eloquence of his tempera

ore, Is it possible that this

luncheon; so I accepted for us both; and Ruth gave me a grateful look. Roscoe seemed almost anxious not to be alone with Ruth-not from any cowardly feeling, but because he was perplexed by the old sense of coming

said to me: "Who

ich, unencumbered," I

and be conjugated in the past tense," was the c

ial life in the East, practising with considerable skill those arts of conversation so much cultivated in metropolitan d

annot answer regarding the pedigree, nor a great deal a

ed that you knew her p

better-perhaps," sh

frankness, "for she lived in the South Seas

in some ways; and yet, do you know, I like he

the gift of making people do both.-I think sh

as most girls of my age: and perhaps I am no better for that. But Mrs. Falchion's introduction to me occurred in such pecu

nge; though the meeting was quite to be expected, as Mrs. Falchion herself explained that day. She had determined on coming over

iends," was the abstra

very much better than-

thinking uncharitably of Mrs. Falchion. I, of course, agreed with her, and told her the story of

if she was mother to them all, angel of them all, domestic court for them all; as indeed she was. Here there seemed no disturbing element in her; a close observer might even have said (and in this case I fancy I was that) that she had no mind or heart for anything or anybody but these few of her blood and

nderness; that to her last day she would look back and not remember that she h

d anything which could steal away this girl's happiness from her, even for a time, I should myself seek to retaliate-which was, as may appear, in my power. But I could not go to Mrs. Falchion now and say: "You intend some harm t

deed, sent a cable to my agent in England, which was to be forwarded to the address given me by Boyd Madras at Aden. I had got a reply saying that Boyd Madras had

e fired over his grave, and the new- formed corporation appeared. He was buried on the top of a foot-hill, which, to this day, is known as Boldricks' Own. The grave

BOL

h Municipa

eth day of

emory, and fo

and S

Roscoe after the rites were finishe

e a mean thing, and he never pal'd with a mean man. He wasn't for getting his teeth on edge like some i

and then Viking went back to work

g ruin. During the evenings of these days he wrote much in his diary-the very book that lies by me now. Writing seemed a relief to him, for he was more cheerful afterwards. I know that he had received letters from the summer hotel, but whether they were from Mrs. Falchion or Justine Caron I was not then aware, though I afterwards came to know

Roscoe's diary, to show the st

ary as well as repentance; but when one cannot make restitution, when it is impossible-what then? I suppose one has t

st thing she would wish now. I cannot bring Alo back. But how does that concern her! Why does she hate me so? For, underneath her kindest words,-and they are kind sometimes,-I can detect the note of enmity, of calcul

nother

e told to me, of all the world, and at such a time. Some would say, I suppose, that it was the arrangement of Providen

one to his pal at D

e to see Galt Roscoe. This was the substance of th

ial, but I have never forgotten, and I have brought you at last-you must not shake your head so-the money you spent. . . . But you MU

ing beyond duty to her dead. If goodness makes beauty, she was beautiful; and yet, besides all that, she had a

the money?" he said at last, and his

swered, and she put a rol

arefully; "but only what I actually spent, remember; what I told you when you wrote me at Hect

ined softly. But she took back the surplus notes. "An

ccasion for gratitude. Why

ass by on th

ong thieves," was his

e old allies o

hmen- passed him by. They were infamous in falsehood, cruel to hi

k to one person, and to benefit that one we sacrifice others. Have you found all Englishmen-and WOMEN unselfish?" He looked at her steadily; but immediatel

own in the pockets of his linen coat; her hands opening and shutting her parasol sligh

re two times when one must fear a woman." She answered his question more d

understand

hate, either through jealousy or because she cannot love where she would, she is merciless. She does not know the honour of the game. She has no pity. Then, sometimes when she loves in a way,

. His face flushed slightly. He knew that Justine had thought well of him, and now he k

he man whom th

es-and loves too, t

ch a man?" he almo

ting a woman who will not be fair in battle. She will say what may appear

stine had more than an

would advise that man

in her eyes; "for sometimes a woman is not satisfied with wo

ted him too; but she did not know the true reason of the hatred-that only came out afterwards. Woman-like, she exaggerated

ven might be in d

mi

not so dreadful,"

ot the wors

e him-and whose hearts would break if he were killed. Love can outlive slander, but it is bitter when it has to outlive both slander and death. It is easy to love wit

e said: "Is it a pl

an as I speak of, warn him to fly." And she raised her eyes from the ground and look

t it is only fear for those who care for him, be they ever so few. And he hopes that they will be brave enough to face his misery, if it

used of doing a still greater. The consequence of the first thing followed him. He could ne

life, monsieur, is always

"The woman faced him in the hour of his p

and,' m

ld ruin him, and kill his

here was no trouble there. The birds were singing, black squirrels were jumping from bough to bough,

s, life has had for him more compensations than he deserves. For, in his troub

O women," she

?" he repe

er home and prayed,

and," he said: an

as full of gratitude, for the man was noble, she owed him a great debt, and she believed in him alw

le and pitiful wit

and her gravity looked

treated. She is so far beneath him! and yet one c

self miserable who is befriended in such a way! Mademoisel

a mother, though she have no child. She longs to protect the suffering, because to protect is in her so far as God is. . . . Well, this woman c

aid to himself: "Gratitude like that is a wonderful thing." He should have said some