Sir Tristram, etc

Chapter I

The water had been rising all day. Since early morning, when the low gray clouds first swept across the sky, the west wind had echoed over the valley the moan of the distant sea. It scattered the rain across the fields, and lashed up the waves of the river into a seething fury till they rolled along, gathering up boughs and sticks and drift ing boats and drowning animals in their mad career. All day long a crowd of men and boys had stood upon the bridge that spanned the river as it flowed through the little town of Stowbury, and with ropes and poles had striven hard to keep the arches clear. Already the flood was creeping up the street, lapping with a strange sound against the houses, and trickling over door-stones on to cottage floors ; if the wreckage should dam up the water, the whole riverside would be laid waste I Now and again a shout arose as some strange object rushed down upon the stream, and loud yelps of terror were mingled with the voices of the men as a dog was swept into sight, perched on the roof of its floating kennel.

With almost human pleading in its eyes it cried for help as it approached the bridge ; but the current was too strong, ropes and poles were powerless to arrest it, and disappearing for a moment under the arch, it emerged on the other side and was soon but a floating speck in the distance. And still the river rose ! Housewives were carrying their furniture upstairs, shop keepers securing their stock, and old men and women telling to eager listeners the tale of the last great flood, till at last twilight came down on the wild October day and the river thundered on through the darkness, more terrible because unseen. Down below the town, where the meadows lay in a wide sloping tract of verdure, the water had fuller sway than it had above the bridge, and, as the day wore on, it had crept over the grass, first in narrow streams that mapped out islands as it went, but at last in a widening sea which, as night drew on, seethed and sobbed unceasingly.

A solitary house stood within sight of the town among the meadows, an old house with gabled roof and ivy-covered chimneys. Its garden walls were laden with ripening fruit in the summer time, and its borders were filled with sweet-smelling shrubs and flowers ; a sheltered, silent place, where the sunlight lay still and warm, and the bees hummed an old-world song as they flew to and fro. But when wild winds were blowing and the floods were afield, the silence was invaded by unquiet spirits ; footsteps echoed in the empty chambers and voices whispered along the galleries, while the gale rose and fell round the wall3 like an advancing and retreating army. On such a night as this one might have thought that the inhabitants of the solitary house would have been full of excitement and alarm, but, early as it was, the house hold had retired to bed, and the only member of it still awake had been sitting for the last half-hour in a train o£ thought so deep and abstracted that she had never once lifted her eyes from the glowing coals.

The room in which she sat was a complete contrast to the rest of the house ; the ancient furniture and faded tapestry that adorned the lower rooms were banished from this snug retreat, where engravings of modern pictures hung on the walls, and every available corner was filled with new editions of standard works. Bacon, Milton, Addison and Johnson were all present — but Johnson was denuded of his calf binding, and Addison bereft of his old-fashioned print ; bound in cheap cloth covers, heralded by introductions and followed by notes, they looked as uncomfortable as if they had been living creatures ticketed for show in a museum. A pile of dictionaries, concordances and commentaries stood on the writing table, where numberless volumes of essays were flanked by numberless short memoirs ; a half written sheet of paper lay on the desk, and the pen still in the inkstand told of recently-interrupted work.

The owner of books and pen was meanwhile resting in her easy chair ; her bright brown hair shone with a touch of gold in the lamplight, and her eyes showed dark and deep under their heavy lashes. Her figure was slight and girlish, and her mouth, though firmly set, was marked by some indeterminate lines to be resolved as character and destiny should dictate. Hylda Carlyle wanted still a few months of twenty-one, an age when, whatever a girl's opinions and aspirations may be, her ultimate development is still an open question. That Hylda's opinions and aspirations were not alto gether of the ordinary kind was denied by no one who knew her ; but while some admired there were others who condemned. It was unnatural, to say the least of it, that she should care so Uttle for the advantages that she possessed, and should care so much for others that were out of her reach.

Mrs. Carlyle had had many things to try her in the course of her life, but nothing had ever tried her so sorely as the discovery that her daughter was not cast in the same mould as herself. She had been taught in her youth that it was her first duty to marry well, and when Captain Carlyle — handsome, rich, and the eldest son of a baronet — was thrown in her way, she required no urging to induce her to accept his proposals. Her first grief had come in the shape of her baby boy's death a few weeks after he was born, and in scarcely more than a year the birth of a daughter had been followed by an accident in which Captain Carlyle lost his life. To say that Mrs. Carlyle did not grieve for her husband would be untrue, she did grieve for him ; but she grieved still more for the loss of the wealth and position that she had been taught to regard as the world's best gift.

The property was strictly entailed, and on the death of the old baronet it passed to his younger son, while Mrs. Carlyle and her daughter were left with a sufficient income and the use of the Manor House. Most of the land round Stowbury was included in tho Carlyle estates, and, do what she might, and go where she would, the widow could in no wise escape from the sight of farms and fields and forests that would have been her son's if he had lived. The bitterness of this feeling was accen tuated by the relations between Lady Carlyle and herself. In Harriet's position, she thought, she would not have behaved as Harriet did; it was all very well to talk of bowing to the decrees of Providence, but since Providence had decreed Harriet's exaltation and her own abasement, the point was scarcely one for Harriet to insist upon !

Still, the two ladies preserved an outward semblance of friendship, and when the young baronet died, leaving but one sickly son to keep the family honours from passing to a distant branch, Mrs. Carlyle's condolences were sincere as well as profuse. Since that time, however, their friendship had passed through a still more serious crisis. Sir Tristram, debarred from many pleasures by his delicate health, had found con solation in the society of his cousin. They read together, rode together, walked and talked together, with the result that Tristram fell in love with her, to his aunt's uncon cealed delight, and his mother's unconcealed disgust. It was Mrs. Carlyle's turn now to talk of bowing to the decrees of Providence ; there was such a thing as poetic justice in the world after all, and since matters were arranging themselves according to her wishes it was easy to believe that they were ordered for the best.

The only bitter drop in the cup was that Hylda seemed to be strangely indifferent to her good fortune. She was fond of her cousin, and accepted his attentions good temperedly enough, but any attempt to win a definite answer to his suit was met with a repulse, and for some time now the subject had been dropped, on the tacit under standing that the engagement would be announced as soon as Hylda came of age, at which time Sir Tristram would be twenty-five. But though Tristram kept honourably to his promise of silence, Mrs. Carlyle was not so scrupulous, and she lost no opportunity of impressing her wishes upon her daughter. On this very evening she had harped on the subject con tinuously since dinner-time, until Hylda was thankful that a fit of indignant tears came to end her mother's arguments, and compelled her to seek refuge in an early retirement to bed.

" It has just ruined my evening's work ! " said Hylda, impatiently, as she shut her study door and lit the read ing-lamp on her table. " I had the whole thing in my mind an hour or two ago, but now I might just as well not have gone to the lecture at all I " She sighed heavily as she opened a notebook and took out a University Extension syllabus from between its leaves. The subject was a sufficiently large one, " The Belation of Literature to Life," and the lecture to which she turned bore the appropriate title, " The Evolution of Kevolt." " The Germ of Freedom." " The workings of Freedom in the human mind." "The development of the idea of Freedom in the writings of the poets." Such were some of the headings that seemed to her like water in a thirsty land. Here was appreciation, sympathy, and help, and her fingers touched the page caressingly as though it could understand her gratitude.

" I certainly have one thing to thank Tristram for," she thought, "if it had not been for him we should never have got these lectures established ; and what a new world they have opened to me ! " " The Evolution of Revolt." There was something in the name that struck an answering chord in her breast, and, seizing pen and paper, she began to write. Her train of thought was not, however, destined to be long uninterrupted. When the mind contains a subject of perpetual irritation, the slightest touch will serve to arouse it ; a sentence in her notebook recalled one of her mother's recent speeches, and instantly the old vexed question rushed back upon her and blotted out her golden visions. Freedom ! That in one word was the object of her desires, and the object for which she had determined to live.

But, as all the world knows, it is one thing to set the mind upon an object and quite another to attain it. Freedom was Hylda's desire, and Freedom seemed to be eternally out of her reach. She threw down her pon at last and went over to the fireside to think. Two courses of life lay open before her, and they seemed to her but different forms of bondage. On the one hand, she might remain as she was, stretch out after such little morsels of intellectual advancement as came in her way, and wait for future emancipation ; or, on the other, she might marry Tristram and spend her life in a round of dull duties. Wealth and position, which in her mother's eyes were so all-important, 'seemed to her absolutely worthless. She had no craving for London Society, for the London that she knew was but the country transported to town for the season, with its conversation a little smarter and its dinner hour a little later.

The world for which she longed was that cosmopolitan world of art and music and literature where all the men were delightful and all the women witty, and where life was lifted far above the narrow bounds in which she at present existed. This imaginary world was her Paradise ; and, like the for bidden Peri, she lingered at the gate and longed to find an entrance. Should she be dooming herself to perpetual banishment if she married Tristram, or could she mould him to her will and compel him to open to her the new life for which she longed ? This was the question that occupied her mind and prevented her from silencing him altogether; he was a dear fellow, and he loved her : might it not be possible to uproot him from the hole in which he had grown, and use the power that his position would give her in furthering her desires ?

It might be possible, and therefore she had not given him a decided refusal, and yet there was a secret fear that held her back from a decided acceptance. In spite of his slender frame and delicate health — in spite, even, of his devotion to herself — there was a latent force in her cousin's character that warned her that he could not be treated as a puppet. She played with him and teased him ; there were times when she even despised him for his want of compre hension of her views, yet all the while she was conscious of a secret strength in him against which she measured herself in vain. No ; the risk was too great. If Tristram considered it his wife's duty to spend her life in patronising philan thropic societies and returning the calls of the county, he was quite capable of making her do it, to the ruin of all her private aspirations.

It would be wiser, after all, to nurse her wings and muse on immortality until her restric tions were removed and she could try a flight on her own account. She would publish her volume of essays under a pseudonym, and then flash forth before the eyes of her friends in all the glory of her fame, and claim her right to live a life of her own. There was only one drawback to this bright scheme for the future ; it was not such an easy matter to bring her essays before the eyes of the world as she had imagined that it would be. Her allowance was no more than enough for her needs, and, as the secret must be strictly preserved, she could not ask her mother for money for the production of the book ; the only plan, therefore, was to induce some publisher to bring it out at his own risk, and this, strangely enough, no publisher had as yet been found ready to do.

" Hours of Insight," as she had named her book, had gone the weary round that so many manuscripts go, and no one had yet recognised the glow of latent genius within its pages. It is not easy to discourage young writers, as many publishers know to their cost, and Hylda, far from being downcast by her repeated failures, was merely indignant. It was not her book that was lacking, but that influential friend, existent in the imagination of so many budding authors, who is ready to take talent by the hand and introduce it to fame 1 An adviser was what Hylda longed for, as the solution of the difficulties of her case ; but where to find what she wanted was another thing. The town of Stowbury was small and its inhabitants old fashioned, there were none among them who took any interest in literary matters, and Hylda went vainly through the list of her acquaintances.

But this autumn had witnessed a new departure in the neighbourhood. An energetic lady had taken up the direction of the ladies' school in the town, and finding things intellectual at the lowest ebb of stagnation, she bethought herself of calling in the aid of University Extension. Her task was an uphill one, for the movement was too modern to meet with much approbation ; but not being easily daunted she persevered, and on asking Sir Tristram Carlyle to allow his name to be printed as President of the Centre, she received such a handsome donation that she was able to complete her arrangements. Hylda had naturally taken the keenest interest in the matter, and had gone to the first lecture with expectations that seemed too glowing for fulfilment ; yet, glowing as they were, they were not only fulfilled but surpassed.

Mr. Bichard Weston was a man such as at present she had only dreamed of ; he had penetrating eyes, a commanding appearance and a fine voice ; but more than this, the vague ideas that had floated before her for so long seemed familiar realities to him ; and, as she listened to his flowing utterances, she felt as if all her doubts and perplexities were being suddenly cleared away like shadows at sunrise. What would not an hour's talk with him be to her ! She watched Miss Elton with admiring envy as she carried him off to tea. Why should she be shut out from privi leges that would have been so precious to her ? But her feelings had become intensified a hundredfold on this second afternoon, when on taking back her corrected paper at the end of the lecture, she found a blue pencil scrawl on the outer sheet.

" A very intelligent essay, but you do not give enough references in support of your opinions." Again and again she pondered over the sentence. He had recognised her powers, and, if she could only get speech with him, she would tell him of those hidden conflicts which seemed to her as fully qualified to support her opinions as any statements of poets or prose writers. He would under stand her, sympathise with her, and help her ; perhaps she might even summon up courage to show him the manu script of her essays, and her fancy ran rapidly forward and pictured various scenes of introduction, equally delightful and equally improbable. Her meditations had reached this point when a strange sound recalled her to herself. The wind had lulled during the last hour, and she could hear a fitful knocking, accompanied by a curious shuffling noise on the wall under neath her window.

Like many highly-strung people, Hylda did not feel her fears till danger was over, and, instead of screaming for help, she set herself to think what could cause the mysterious sound. Thieves trying to place a ladder in position might do it, and putting out the lamp she pushed the curtain aside and looked out. The sight that met her eyes made her start back in bewilderment. The clouds had broken, and the moon shone out in the storm-tossed sky ; lawn and garden and meadows were bathed in silver, but surely no moon could shed such a flood of streaming light 1 It was water ! By some enchanter's wand the house seemed to have been transplanted into the midst of the sea ; water covered the country as far as her eye could travel, water swept through the shrubs and drowned the flowers, water lapped against the walls ; and, as it rose and fell with the wind, a huge bough, torn from one of the trees, was flung against the stones underneath her window.

Though Hylda had been born and bred in Stowbury, she had never seen a flood before, for it was some thirty years since the river had last burst its banks and laid the country waste ; but the low-lying meadows were frequently under water in the autumn, and during the last few weeks the rains had been so heavy that many dismal prophecies had reached her ears. She was not completely taken aback therefore, and as soon as the first shock was over, she began to consider the situation. Reports were current that at the time of the last flood walls and sheds were swept away, and cottages engulfed ; what if it should rise even higher now, and drown the inhabitants of the Manor before they could escape? She knew her mother's nervous temperament too well to expect any help from her ; but while she was wondering how best to arouse her without alarm, she heard a succession of shrieks, and rushing out into the gallery, found that Mrs. Carlyle's maid had felt it her duty to awaken her mistress with the announcement that they would all be dead in half an-hour's time.

"Do be quiet, Nelson," she said, as she put her arm round her mother, and tried to lead her back to her room, " it is not the least use to scream." " I never said it was 1 " cried Nelson, hysterically, her habitual deference forgotten in her terror, ' ' but if some people have got feelings like a nether millstone I haven't ! I thought I should have died when I looked out and saw the water." " Go and wake Roberts," said Hylda, ignoring her remarks with some contempt; "if the water is rising he must try to fetch help." By the time that Hylda had taken her mother back to her room, the old butler appeared in the doorway, but though his presence was gladly hailed by the frightened women, he was in reality as helpless as they were. The water surrounding the house was too deep for wading, and, as he could not swim, and there was no boat at hand, all that they could do was to encourage one another and wait for the morning.

It was a dreary prospect, and as the only means of enlivening it, Hylda told the butler to bring a lamp and escort her downstairs to fetch the materials for an impromptu supper. " I suppose all the doors and windows are securely fastened?" she said, as they made their way along the passages. " Oh, yes, miss," said Roberts, confidently ; " I saw to everything myself as usual." Even butlers, however, are not omniscient ; they had but just collected their provisions and made their way back into the hall, when there was a crash, a roar, and a sudden deluge of water rushed through one of the hall windows. " Heaven save us I " cried Roberts ; " it's that cracked pane given way I" and, taking to his heels, he fled up the staircase leaving Hylda to follow as best she could. If the shrieks had been loud before, they became terrific now I Hylda felt her heart sink as she looked at the trembling group around her, and then went back to listen to the water splashing through the hall below.

It was rising rapidly, the staircase was becoming engulfed step by step, and though they could seek refuge in the attics if it rose to the gallery, they might all be dead of cold and hunger before help came to them. It was no time to show her fear, however, and, carrying the provisions she had secured into her own room, she turned the key in the door ; if their siege was to be a long one they could not be too careful at the beginning. The scene, as she looked over the rails of the gallery, was a strange one : cloaks, shawls, and umbrellas were tossing restlessly on the waves beneath, chairs were drift ing hither and thither, and even the heavy oak table was afloat. And still the flood poured remorselessly in till the weight of water broke open the drawing-room door, and by the dim light of her lamp Hylda could see it making havoc of her mother's cherished possessions.

Mrs. Carlyle had subsided into a state of silent despair, and, following her example, the maids crouched together with pale faces and terrified looks. Hylda preferred their present condition to their former one, but her own alarm grew more acute as theirs became more passive, and she watched the rising tide with anxious eyes. It was not more than eleven o'clock, though the time seemed so long that she could scarcely believe that her clock told the truth, when a knocking was distinctly heard above the noise of the water. "What's that?" cried one or two, roused from their stupor by the fresh sound. " It's spirits come to warn us 1" exclaimed Nelson, her voice shaking with fear. " I know there's water witches that ride on the floods, and when I first looked out I see " That will do 1" said Hylda, decisively.

" I am going to the other side of the house to look out at one of the windows. Roberts, you had better come with me." " Oh ! don't go, my dear young lady I" sobbed Nelson. " They say that whoever sees the witches first dies before the year's out. That's why I shut my eyes and screamed as hard as I could when I went to the window." She held her young mistress's dress in a convulsive SIR TRISTRaUI. 12 clasp, but Hylda drew it away without replying, and pass ing round the gallery went into one of the rooms on the opposite side. The knocking was much louder here, and, even if she had shared Nelson's fears, they would have been speedily allayed by the cheerful sound of voices. " They must all be asleep," were the words that greeted her ears as she threw up the window and leaned out. A boat was underneath, lifted high on the rising water; a lantern tied to a pole shed its lurid light on the figures of two or three men, but Hylda could not distinguish their faces.

" Is that you, miss ? " said a voice that she recognised as the gardener's. " Yes, we are all upstairs. I am so thankful you have come, Jennings. Where did you get a boat? " "It's the boat from the 'Black Eagle,' at Stowbury, miss. They thought we should be in need of help, and rowed over. They stopped at the lodge first, and took my wife and children to the rooms over the stables, and then came on here." " What had we better do ? " asked Hylda, who began to feel her strength failing now that help had come. " The water is in the house, and it is rising fast." " If you could let yourselves down to the boat, we might row you round to the stables, two or three at a time," said Jennings. " What do you say, William ? " and he turned to one of the men from the " Black Eagle," who was a nephew of his.

" It 'ud be a hard matter to get them in safely from the window," said William, after some little reflection. " If the water's inside, the boat had better go inside after it." " Oh, yes ! " cried Hylda, who had been wondering how her mother could ever be induced to let herself be lowered into the darkness ; " please do that if you can. It is the furthest hall window that has given way." She ran back with renewed courage, and the servants, who were quite in good spirits by this time, began to light lamps under her directions, and place them near the rail ings so as to throw their light into the hall below. In a few seconds a dark object appeared at the window, and Jennings, pocket-knife in hand, cut and broke away the remainder of the framework. Then bringing the boat's head to the opening, they shipped their oars and bent their heads, and in another moment she shot in, and was brought to anchor in the hall.

A cheer broke from the group of spectators, for though they were none of them able to appreciate the skill with which the manœuvre had been executed, they were all wrought to the highest pitch of excitement by the appearance of their rescuers. Hylda was the only silent one among them ; it was not indifference, however, that sealed her lips, but a sudden intensity of feeling. Up to the present moment their experience had been nothing but a shivering misery, but now it was changed into a drama of keen and soul-stirring interest ; for the figure in the boat, with well-knit sinewy frame, and dark piercing eyes that looked searchingly into her own, was none other than the one man in all the world whom she longed to see — Mr. Richard Weston, the University Extension lecturer

Chapter II

How long Hylda Carlyle kept her station by the old oak rail of the gallery she never knew. In reality it was not more than a few moments ; but yet, in that brief space, she had time to take in every detail of the figure beneath her gaze. She noticed the easy poise of his head, the cluster ing dark hair, the strong hand that rested on the oar, and the penetrating glance with which he looked around him. She had imagined a thousand meetings, but not one had been so romantic nor so satisfying as this ; winds and waters had swept him to her feet, just when it appeared most unlikely that they should come together, and the whole of the night's adventures seemed nothing now but an appropriate setting for their introduction. Mr. Weston was the first to speak. " This is a very unceremonious entry," he said, looking up with a smile, " and I feel that I owe you an apology ; but as I am a good oar I could not resist joining the party when I heard of a possible rescue."