A House to Let

turing firm, who were extending their business, and opening a warehouse in London; where Mr. Openshaw was now to superintend the business. He rather enjo

ld have confessed it, even to himself, and always spoke of the step to his friends as one demanded of him by the interests of his employers, and sweetened to him by a considerable increase of salary. His salary indeed was so liberal that he might have been justified in taking a much larger House than this one, had he not thought himself bound to set an example to Londoners of how little a Manchester man of business cared for show. Inside, however, he furnished the House with an unusual degree of comfort, and, in the winter time, he insisted on keeping up as la

rather, I should say, she had two; for the elder, a girl of eleven, was Mrs. Openshaw’s child by Frank Wilson her first husband. The younger was a little boy, Edwin, who coul

It is true she would have preferred his remaining in the first or second stages of behaviour; for his violent love puzzled and frightened her. Her uncle neither helped nor hindered the love affair though it was going on under his own eyes. Frank’s step-mother had such a variable temper, that there was no knowing whether what she liked one day she would like the next, or not. At length she went to such extremes of crossness, that Alice was only too glad to shut her eyes and rush blindly at the chance of escape from domestic tyranny offered her by a marriage with her cousin; and, liking him better than any one in the world except her uncle (who was a

nement while her husband was away on his voyage. Captain Wilson was, as he himself expressed it, “breaking up,” and unwilling to undergo the excitement of a scene; yet he felt that what his son said was true. So he went to his wife. And before Frank went to sea, he had the comfort of seeing his wife installed in her old little garret in his father’s house. To have placed her in the one best spare room was a step beyond Mrs. Wilson’s powers of submission or generosity. The worst part about it, however, was that the fa

aps more of peace than there had been for years; for Mrs. Wilson had not a bad heart, and was softened by the visible approach of death to one whom she loved, and touched by the lonely condition of the young

that, and the consequent examination into the state of his affairs, it was found that he had left far less property than people had been led by his style of living to imagine; and, what money there was, was all settled upon his wife,

ice, they told her that the owners had given up Hope of ever hearing more of the Betsy-Jane, and had sent in their claim upon the underwriters. Now that he was gone for ever, she first felt a yearning, longing love for the kind cousin, the dear friend, the sympathising protector, whom she should never see again,— first felt a passionate desire to show him his child, whom she had hitherto rather craved to have all to herself — her own sole po

er ewe-lamb began to be ailing, pining and sickly. The child’s mysterious illness turned out to be some affection of the spine likely to affect health; but not to shorten life — at least so th

after all loved it well — began a fresh moan over her losses to its unconscious ears — saying how she had planned to consult this or that doctor, and to give it this or that comfort or luxury in after yearn but that now all chance of this had passed away — Alice’s heart was touched, and she drew near to Mrs. Wilson with unwonted caresses, and, in a spirit not unlike to that of, Ruth, entreated, that come what would, they might remain together. After much discussion in succeeding days, it was arranged that Mrs. Wilson should take a ho

nd all went smoothly,— with the one sad exception of the little girl’s incre

er house; and Alice’s tender conscience was torn by the idea that she ought not to be a burden to her mother-in-law, but ought to

t must be owned, every man a fool or a knave who differed from him, and overthrowing his opponents rather by the loud strength of his language than the calm strength if his logic. There was something of the Yankee in all this. Indeed his theory ran parallel to the famous Yankee motto — “England flogs creation, and Manchester flogs England.” Such a man, as may be fancied, had had no time for falling in love, or any such nonsense. At the age when most young men go through their courting and matrimony, he had not the means of keeping a wife, and was far too practical to think of having one. And now that he was in easy circumstances, a rising man, he considered women almost as incumbrances to the world, with whom a man had better have as little to do as possible. His first impression of Alice was indistinct, and he did not care enough about her to make it distinct. “A pretty yea-na

small delicate face a look beyond its years; the soft plaintive voice dropping out but few words, so unlike the continual prattle of a child — caught Mr. Openshaw’s attention in spite of himself. One day — he half scorned himself for doing so — he cut short his dinner-hour to go in search of some toy which should take the place of those eternal beads. I forget what he bought; but, when he gave the present (which he took care to do in a short abrupt manner, and when no one was by to see him) he was almost thrilled by the flash of delight that came over that child’s face, and could not help all through that afternoon going ov

much,” and was gone, even before he could send her

lightest expression of it, by word, action, or look, to escape him. He watched Alice’s docile obedient ways to her stepmother; the love which she had inspired in the rough Norah (roughened by the wear and tear of sorrow and years); but above all, he saw the wild, deep, passionate affection existing between her and her child. They spoke little to any one else, or when any one else was by; but, when alone together, they talked, and murmured, and cooed, and chattered so continually, that Mr. Openshaw first wondered what they could find to say to each other, and next became irritated because they were always so grave and silent with

eason why we two should not

d silence her safest course, and went on quietly arranging his breakfast without another word passing between them. Just as he was leaving the house,

(this was her name with the lodgers), “and

through the day; and, of course, the effort not to think made her think all the more. At night she sent up Norah with his tea. But Mr. Openshaw almost

seem to have affixed too

? Don’t make it too long; for I have lots

you meant, sir,” s

e thy wedded husband, and serve me, and love me, and honour me, and all that sort of thing? Because if you will, I will do as much by you, and be a father to yo

r reply was a matter of perfect indifference to him;

?” sa

may I have to

th me, and we’ll talk it over together; for, after tea, I shall be busy; say No” (he hesitated a moment to try and keep his voice in the

you have been so goo

and let us have our tea together. I am glad to f

lice Wilson’s

efore him. He settled Mrs. Wilson in a comfortable house of her own, and made her quite indepe

f’s-foot jelly as Norah does; wasting good stuff outside that ought to go in, but will follow doctors’ directions; which, as you must see pretty clearly by this time, Norah won’t; because they give the poor little wench pain. Now, I’m not above being nesh for other folks myself. I can stand a good blow, and never change colour; but, set me in the operating-room in the infirmary, and I turn as sick as a girl. Yet, if need were, I would hold the li

nceforward Mother), by his healthy cheerfulness of manner, his clear decision of purpose, his odd turns and quirks of humour, added to his real strong love for the helpless little girl, infused a new element of brig

been the great trial of her former married life. Now, all went on clear and straight, under the guidance of her husband’s strong sense, warm heart, and powerful will. Year by year their worldly prosperity increased. At Mrs. Wilson’s death, Norah came back to them, as nurse to the newly-born little Edwin; into which post she was not installed without a pretty str

ncashire family who had now removed to

them a visit and see London. Mrs. Openshaw had never seen this uncle and aunt of her husband’s. Years before she had married him, there had been a quarrel. All she knew was, that Mr. Chad

rge was her stock. A fortnight before the day of her departure for London, she had formally called to take leave of all her acquaintance; saying she should need all the intermediate time for packing up. It was like a second wedding in her imagination; and, to complete the resembla

e, and the spirit of loyalty demanded that Mrs. Chadwick should wear her best clothes in visiting the abode of her sovereign. On her return, she hastily changed her dress; for Mr.

n tending her two children, and in sitting by the restless, excitable Ailsie till she fell asleep. Bye

some one down-st

me! Who

ntlem

eman? No

u, and he rung at the front door bell,

t him,” exclaimed Norah,

past me, and sat down on the first chair, and said, ‘Tell her to come and sp

semaid’s fear into words, and preparing to leave the room, first

ered the dining-room she provided herself with a candle, and, with it in

. Norah and he looked at each other; gra

at length

nd incredulity. “I don’t know you:” trying, by futile words

resay I am. But, Norah, tell me!” he breathed h

ome horrible object. Yet he was a handsome, bronzed, good-looking fellow, with beard and moustache, giving him a foreign-looking aspect; but his eye

she dead?” Norah still kept silence. “She is dead!” He hung on N

find me out? where have you been? We thought you dead, we did, indeed!” S

estion, straight, by yes

” said Norah, sl

ut perhaps you don’t know. Why did you leave he

use she could not endure her present state: “Mr. Frank! we never heard a line from you, and the shipowners said you had gone down, you and every one else. We thought you were dead, if ever man was, and poor Miss Alice and h

He took her hands in his. He squeezed them hard, as i

was calm, stagnant as desp

ly. The grasp slowly rel

urned, before the mind poured in its flood of memories and thoughts — she lifted him up, and rested his head against her knees.

d been afraid to tell him the truth, and then she had been a coward. Now, her wits were sharpened by the sense of his desperate state. He must leave the house. She woul

tter if not to the spirit). “Go away, and tell me where to find you to-morrow, and I will tell you all. My mast

s too petty to touc

t savages, always, always, always thinking of my wife and my home — dreaming of her by night, talking to her, though she could not hear, by day. I loved her

esperate positions requ

aid to her. And now you, come and will take her life into your hand, and will crush it. Strangers to her have been kind to her; but her own father — Mr. Frank, I am her nurse, and I love her, and I tend her, and I would do anything for her that I could. Her mother’s heart beats as hers beats; and, if she suffers a pain, her mother trembles all over. If she is happy, it is her mother that smiles and is glad. If she is growing stronger, her mother is healthy: if she dwindl

own. Her little face, deprived of the lustre of her eyes, looked wan and pinched, and had a pathetic expression in it, even as she slept. The poor father looked and looked with hungry, wistful eyes, into which the big tears came swelling up slowly, and dropped heavily down, as he stood trembling and shaking all over. Norah was angry with herself for growing impatient of the length of time that long lingering gaze lasted. She thought that she waited for full half-an-hour befor

ild?” h

e instinctively; for Frank’s looks excited her fears, and s

serted state. But Norah had no time for pity. To-morrow she would be as compassionate as her heart prompted.

and, thinking what was to come of all this misery. It seemed to her very long before they did return; yet it was hardly eleven o’clock. She so heard the loud, hearty

penshaw come in, calmly smiling, handsomely dre

eep comfortably?” sh

es

ho had looked on her last! Then she went to Edwin, with perhaps less wistful anxiety in her countenanc

ren more immediately under their own eyes. Early the next summer morning Mrs. Openshaw was awakened by Ailsie’s startled call of “Mother!

e, mother?

ou have been dreaming love. Waken u

then clinging to her mother, said, “b

goose. No man has

. And he knelt down and said his prayers. Norah knows he was here, mothe

. “But we won’t talk any more about him now. It is not five o’clock; it

e bedside talking to Ailsie, and telling her of what they had done at Richmond the eve

sie wakened up in a fright, with some story of a man having been in the room

ut, bye-and-bye, she heard a sharp altercation going on in the nursery. Norah speaking ang

ne of your dreams; never let me hear you t

or of communication before

, come

fiant. She perceived she had be

that manner to Ailsie again,” he

uestioning; and a little blame for sharp speaking was wha

other’s hand. Each child was placed in a chair by the breakfast-table, and then Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw stood together at the window,

waking up poor, tired mother in the middle of th

eep,— and I awakened up quite wide awake though I was so frightened. I kept my eyes nearly shut, and I saw the man quite plain. A great brown man with

t all. No man comes into the house as you know, if you think; much less goes up into the nursery. But sometimes we dream something has happen

ot a dream!” said Ail

n in an evidently preconcerted manner to inquire if his nephew was certain that all his servants were honest; for, that Mrs. Chadwick had that morning missed a very valuable brooch, which she had worn the day before. She remembered taking it off w

here last night w

came to spe

! Who was he? How

to tell Norah in the nursery, and she came down to speak to him. Sh

ked any more questions, but

though he were going out of the room;

dren,” she said, in her low, quiet v

speak truth, as even the missus must allow. Now, my notion is, that this Norah of ours has been come over by some good-for-nothin chap (for she’s at the time o’ life when they say women pray for husbands —‘any, good Lord,

was the resolute man through all. She knew better than to oppose him; so she went up-stairs, and told

thout a word. Her t

may come,— and then just Lord have mercy upon us all: for some

alone in the dining-room; Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick having left the affair

t man that came to

itely; surprised but it

who took Mrs. Chadwick’s brooch, value ten pounds. Now, Norah! Don’t go off! I am as sure as that my name’s Thomas Openshaw, that you knew nothing of this robbery. But I do think you’ve been imposed on, and that’s the truth. Some good-for-nothing chap has been making up to you, and you’ve been just like all other women, and have turned a soft place in your heart to him

theft and burglary; if any friend ever came to see me (which I defy you to prove, and deny), he’d be just as much above doing such a thing as you yourself, Mr. Openshaw, and more so, too; for I’m not at

l not tell it me quietly and civilly here. Now the best thing you can do is quietly to tell me who the fellow is. Look here! a man comes to my house; asks for you; you take him up-stairs, a valuable brooch is missing next day; we know that you, and Mary, and cook, are honest; b

at should get it out of me,” said N

, growing angry at the defiance. Then, checki

an, if you can. It’s no great disgrace, after all, to have been taken in. I ask you

impatient tone. Still no answer. Norah’s l

thing to be done. I sha

ouse, I have thought more of serving her than of serving myself! I have cared for her and her child, as nobody ever cared for me. I don’t cast blame on you, sir, but I say it’s ill giving up one’s life to any one; for, at the end, they will turn round upon you, and forsake you. Why does not my m

nt of his wife’s; for he had never for a moment doubted her perfect honesty. But he had intended to compel her to tell him who the man was, and in this he was baffled. He was, consequently, much irritated. He returned to his uncle and aunt in a state of great annoyance and perplexity, and told them

hadwick. “It is not the way in whic

But Mrs. Openshaw turned round on Mr. Chadwick wit

at being suspected. O, I wish I had seen her — that I had spoken to

ow, and oftenest the blow first; and now, when there is every cause for suspicion, you just do nought. Your missus is a very go

I believe she might if she would. Only I wash my hands of it; for I am sure the woman hersel

to clear herself. That, at an

rning round once more to Mr. Chadwick, suddenly and sharply, after his eye had fallen on Alice’s wan, tearful, anxious face; “I’ll have none sending for t

t of hearing, and then aid to his wife; “For all Tom’s heroics, I’m just

diately taken to find out where she was. Most probably, as they suggested, she had gone at once to the man, who, to all appearance, was her lover. When Mr. Chadwick asked how they would find her out? they smil

sterday. I took it off in a hurry, and it must have caught in it; and I hung up my gown in the closet. Just now,

given it thee,” snatched up his hat, and rushed back to the station; hoping to be in time to

ected against her; although this last had been the final goad to the course she took. She walked away almost at headlong speed; sobbing as she went, as she had not dared to do during the past night for fear of exciting wonder in those who might hear her. Then she stopped. An idea came into her mind that she would leave London altogether, and betake herself to her native town of Liverpool. She felt in her pocket for her purse, as she drew near the Euston Square station with this intention. She had left it at home. Her poor head aching, her eyes swollen with crying, she had to stand still, and think, as well as she could, where next she should bend her steps. Suddenly the thought flashed into her mind that she would go and find out poor Mr. Frank. She had been hardly kind to him the night before, though her heart had bled for him ever since. She remembered his telling her as she inq

eyond showing his authority (which made the landlady applaud herself a good deal for having locked her in), he went back to the police-station to report his proceedings. He could have taken her d

It would be Mr. Frank; and she dizzily pushed back her ruffled grey hair, which had fallen ov

Kennedy,” sai

suddenly sank down on the ground. To her surprise, Mr. Openshaw raised her up very tenderly. Even the policeman helped to lay her on the sofa; and

eg your pardon. Most truly I beg your pardon, for having troubled you about it. My wife is almost broken-hearted. E

for. She suddenly pushed Mr. Openshaw away, saying, “O, sir, you mus

one is gone away who will never come back: someone

rowful manner bewildering her yet more than his words. The policeman

some one is gone who will never

Norah, tremb

found in the Thames t

imself?” asked

use, were found in his pocket: that, and his purse, were the only things, that were found

t?” ask

ake no doubt he was the man who came to see you at our house last night. It is very sad, I know.” He made pauses between e

to any one, and you and I must hide it away for ever. I thought to have done it all by myself, but I see I

. He did not speak; but, after a w

dead or alive. I was a brute, and thought more of our all coming home than of his sore trial: spoke out sharp, and

me!” said M

s than any one among us. He had been among the savages — shipwrecked — I know

w his

d he was going mad on my hands. I came to seek him here, as I more than half promis

stunned to wonder at what he did. He asked for writi

that you are well, and send her your love, and will come home to-morrow. You must go with me to the

are you g

er her directly

grave, as if he were my only brother: and how he must have hated me! I cannot go home to my wife till all that I can do for him is done. Then I go with a dreadful secret on my mi

by her husband in his letter not to allude to the supposed theft of the brooch; so she, implicitly obedient to those whom she loved both by

as curiously changed. More thoughtful, and perhaps less active; quite as decided in conduct, but with new and different rules for the guidance of that conduct. Towards Alice he could hardly be more kind than he ha

town, and she was carried to a certain mound by her maid, who was then sent back to the carriage. There was a head-stone, with F. W. and a date. That was all. Sitting

rst of his series of discoveries in triumph. “A story that goes straight to

protest directly in

ence. “Don’t you see that I want you to s

ctful obstinacy which would have upset the temper of

y all means let us hear wha

e over the way doesn’t let, and I don’t exactly see how you

ut, excellent as the story was in itself, I felt that he had hit on the wea

es of discoveries, and you jump instantly to the conclusion that the first of the series exhausts my resourc

d Trottle, moving to the door, the

y manner, “and give Mr. Jarber his fair opportunit

, and Jarber began to read with his back t