To the Bitter End ... By the author of 'Lady Audley's Secret' (Miss Braddon), etc

Front matter

TO THE BITTER END | Bofael BY THE AUTHOR OF 'LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET' ETC. ETC. ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. II. LONDON JOHN MAXWELL AND CO. i SHOE LAUE, FLEET STREET 1872 [All rigliU reserved] i.ondon: 510BB0N AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS EOAD, N.W. CONTENTS OF VOLUME II. CHAP. PAGE i. Mr. Walgrave is translated i h. Richard Redmatne's Return . . 15 111. 'What is it that you would impart to me?' 50 iv. A cold and loveless Union .... 84 v. A palpable Hit . . . . . .104 vi. ' For Life, for Death'. .... 129 vii. Georgie' s Settlement . . . . .141 vni. Mrs. Harcross at Home . . . .160 ix. Mr. and Mrs. Harcross begin to understand EACH OTHER . . . . . . l8o x. ' More fell than Anguish, Hunger, or the Sea' . . . . . . .210 xi. ' But 0, the heavy Change now thou art gone!' . . . . . . .22 1 xii. A recovered Treasure .... 234 xiii. ' Look back ! a Thought which borders on Despair' 244 xiv. Husbands and Wives TO THE BITTEtt END

Chapter I. Mr

WALGRAVE IS TRANSLATED. All through tbe long dead hours of the night, and after the cheerless winter morning had crept in through the close-drawn Venetians, Hubert Walgrave sat alone in the dainty little drawing-room, littered with the things he had bought for Grace Redmayne, gay with hothouse flowers that languished in the close atmosphere, fairy roses and waxen cameUias which her hands were to bave tended. Sbe lay upstairs, in the pretty white-draperied bedchamber that was to have been her own — lay with her hands folded on her breast, more lovely than he could have supposed it possible for death to be. The two servant-maids, and a weird old woman who came VOL. II. B he knew not whence, had summoned him to see her, when their dismal office had been done ; and he had stood alone by the white bed, looking down at her, tearless — with a countenance that seemed more rigid than her own.

He stayed there for a long time — knelt down and tried to fashion a prayer, but could not ; he had not command enough over himself to shape thoughts or words into any given form. There was a confusion in his mind which in all his life had never before oppressed him. Once he bent over the cold hands, and covered them with passionate kisses. ' My angel, my dove, come back to me.!' he cried ; ' I will not believe that you are dead.' But that awful coldness, that utter stiUness, gave him an agony that was more than he could endure. He turned away, and went back to the room below, where he sat alone till morning, with scarcely a change of posture, thinking of what he had done. To say that if he could have brought her back to life he would have married her, would have flung every hope of worldly advancement, every considera tion for the prejudices of mankind to the winds, is to say very little.

Looking back now at his conduct, in the light of this calamity, he wondered how he could ever have counted the cost of any sacrifice that he might be called on to make for Grace Redmayne. 'I loved her with all my heart and soul,' he said to himself, ' as I never loved before, as I never can hope to love again. What more had I to consider ? The loss of a fortune — a wife's fortune ? What ! am I such a sordid wretch as to hold that worth the cost of a wrong done to ber ? But, 0 God, how could I think that I should kill her ? I meant to be so true and loyal to her. I meant to make her life so bright.' He looked round at the scattered silken stuffs, lying in a heap on the floor as he had kicked them aside when Grace fell — the flowers and glove-boxes, and fans and scent-bottles; looked at them with a bitter laugh. ' I have been taught that women only care for these things,' he said to himself; 'and yet a few heartless words of mine killed her.' He thought of all his plans, which had seemed to him so reasonable, so generous even, in regard to Grace : this dainty suburban home, an orderly little establishment — no stint of anything that makes life pleasant — a carriage perhaps, for his darling.

His professional income was increasing daily, he saw himself on the high road to distinction, and could afford to regulate his Use upon a liberal scale. And for his marriage with Augusta Vallory ? That was not to be given up — only deferred for an indefi nite period ; and when it did take place, it would be like some royal marriages on record, a ceremonial political alliance, which would leave his heart free for Grace. But she was gone, and he felt himself something worse than a murderer. There was an inquest next day, an unspeakable horror to Hubert Walgrave ; but he had grown strangely calm by this time, and regulated his con duct with extreme prudence. He had taken the house and engaged the servants under the name of Walsh. Before the coroner he stated that the young lady who had died yesterday was his sister Grace Walsh.

The housemaid had heard him call her Grace while they were both trying to restore her, so any concealment of the Christian name would have been impossible. He had been down into the country to fetch her from a boarding school, whence she was coming to keep house for him. She was his only sister, aged nineteen. TO THE BITTER END. The case was a very simple one. There had been a post-mortem examination, and the cause of death was sufficiently obvious. ' There was organic disease,' the doctor said, and then went on to give his technical explanation of the case. ' It was the excitement of coming home to her brother, no doubt, that precipitated matters. But she could hardly have lived many years — a sudden shock might at any time have killed her.' ' There could have been no sudden shock in this case though,' remarked the coroner ; ' there could be nothing of a sudden or startling character in a pre arranged meeting between brother and sister !' ' Probably not,' replied the medical man ; ' but extreme excitement, a feverish expectation of some event long hoped for, emancipation from school-life, and so on, might have the same fatal effect.

The nature was evidently extremely sensitive. There are physiological signs of that.' ' Was your sister much excited yesterday, Mr. Walsh ?' asked the coroner. ' Yes ; she was considerably excited — she had a peculiarly sensitive nature.' The housemaid was examined, and confirmed her master's story. They had both supposed the young lady had only fainted. Mr. Walsh said she was sub ject to fainting-fits. The coroner was quite satisfied ; everything was done with extreme consideration for the feelings of Mr. Walsh, who was evidently a gentleman. Ver dict : ' Heart-disease, or fatal syncope.' In less than a week from the day of her flight, Grace Redmayne was laid quietly to rest in the churchyard of Hetheridge, Herts — a village as picturesque and sequestered as any rural nook in the green heart of the midland shires.

Mr. Walgrave had a horror of cemeteries, and the manner in which the solemn business of interment is performed in those metropolises of the dead. He chose the most rustic spot that he could find within a reasonable distance of Highgate, the spot that seemed to him most in consonance with the character of his beloved dead. And so ended his love-story. Afar off tbere hung a dark impending cloud — trouble which might arise for him in the future out of this tragedy. But he told himself that, if Fortune favoured him, he might escape all that. The one great fact was his loss, and that seemed to him very heavy. TO THE BITTER END. The business of life had to go on nevertheless, the great Cardimum case came on, and Hubert Walgrave reaped the reward of a good deal of solid labour, spoke magnificently, and made a considerable advance in his professional career by the time the trial was over.

In the beginning of December the Acropolis square house emerged from its state of hibernation, and began to give dinners — dinners to which Mr. Walgrave was in duty bound to go. When he caUed upon Miss Vallory after one of these banquets, she expressed surprise at seeing a band on his hat. ' I did not know you were in mourning,' she said. ' You did not teU me that you had lost any one.' ' It was hardly worth while to trouble you about it since the person was a stranger to you, and not a near relation of mine.' ' Not a near relation ! but your hatband is as deep as a widower's — as deep as that of a widower who means to marry again almost immediately, for they always wear the deepest.' ' Is it ?' asked Mr. Walgrave with a faint smile ; ' I told the hatter to put on a band. I gave no di rections as to width.' ' But tell me all about your relation, Hubert.

You must know that I am interested in everything that concerns you. Was it an uncle, or an aunt ?' ' Neither; only a distant cousin.' ' But really now, Hubert, that hatband is absurd for a distant cousin. You positively must have it altered.' ' I will take it off altogether, if you like, my dear. After all, these " customary suits of solemn black" are only " the trappings and the suits of woe." But I have a feeling that there is a kind of disrespect in not wearing mourning for a person you have es teemed.' ' Pray don't suppose that I disapprove of mourning. I consider any neglect of those things the worst possible taste. But a distant cousin, hardly a relation at all — the mourning should be appropriate. Did your cousin die in London ?' 'No ; in the country.' He saw that Miss VaUory was going to ask him where, and anticipated her. ' In Shropshire.' He said this at a venture, having a vague idea that no one knew Shropshire. 'Indeed!' exclaimed Augusta; 'we have been asked to visit friends near Bridgenorth ; but I have never been in Shropshire.

Did your cousin leave you any money ? Perhaps tbat is the reason of your deep hatband.' ' My cousin left me nothing — but — but a closer acquaintance with death. Every loss in a family brings us that, you know.' ' Of course, — it is always very sad.' The Cardimum case being a marked and positive triumph for Hubert Walgrave, he assumed his silk gown early in the ensuing spring, very much to the gratification of his betrothed, who was really proud of him, and anxious for his advancement. Was he not indeed a part of herself? No position that her own money could obtain for her would satisfy her without the aid of some distinction achieved by him. She knew to the uttermost what money could and could not purchase. There was a family dinner in Acropolis-square very soon after Mr. Walgrave's advancement, a dinner so strictly private that even Weston had not been invited. ' The fact is, I want half an hour's quiet chat with you, Walgrave,' Mr. Vallory said, when Augusta had left the two gentlemen alone after dinner ; ' so I took especial care tbere should be no one here to-day but ourselves.

I don't like to ask you to come and see me at the office; that seems so confoundedly formal.' ' At any place, and at any time, I should be happy to hold myself at your disposal,' Mr. Walgrave replied politely. ' Thanks ; I know you are very good, and aU that kind of thing ; but I wanted a friendly talk, you see ; and I never can have half an hour in the Old Jewry free from junior partners or senior clerks bobbing in and out, wanting my signature to this, that, and the other, or to know whether I wiU see Mr. Smith, or won't see Mr. Jones. The truth of the matter is, my dear Walgrave, that I am very much pleased with you. I may say more than pleased — surprised. Not that I ever for a moment doubted your talents ; no, believe me,' — tbis with a ponderous patronage, as if he feared that the younger man might perish untimely under the fear of not having been appre ciated by him — ' no, no, my dear fellows I was quite aware there was stuff in you, but did not know how soon — ha, ha ! — you might turn your stuff into silk.

I did not expect your talents to bear fruit so rapidly.' ' You are very kind,' said Hubert Walgrave, looking steadily down at his plate. He had an apprehension of what was coming, and nerved himself to meet it. It was his fate; the destiny he had once courted eagerly, set all his wits to com pass. Why should he shrink from it now? What was there to come between him and Augusta Val lory ? Nothing — but a ghost ! ' Now I am not a believer in long engagements,' continued Mr. VaUory: 'I am a man of the world, and I look at things from a worldly point of view, and I can't Say that I have ever seen any good come of them. Sometimes the man sees some one he likes better than the girl he's engaged to, sometimes the girl sees some one she likes better; neither is candid enough to make a clean breast of it ; and they go dawdling on, pretending to be devoted to each other, and ultimately marry without a ha'porth of love between them.' ' There is sound philosophy in what you say, no doubt ; but I should imagine where the affection is sincere, and not weakened by separation, time should strengthen the bond.' ' Yes, when a man and woman are married, and know that the bondage is a permanent business.

Now when you first proposed to my daughter, with a full knowledge of her position as a young woman who might fairly expect to make a much better match, I told you that I could not consent to your marriage until you had achieved some standing in your profession — income was a secondary consider ation with me. Augusta has enough for both.' ' I hope I made you understand clearly that I could never submit to a position of dependence on my wife ?' Mr. Walgrave said hastily. ' Quite so ; but you can't help absorbing the ad vantages of your wife's money. Your wife can't eat turtle -soup at her end of the table, whUe you eat mutton -broth at your end. Augusta is not a girl who will cut her coat according to your cloth. She will expect the surroundings she has been accustomed to from her cradle ; and she will, expect you to share them, without question as to whose banking account contributes the most to the expenses of the house hold.

What she has a right to expect from her husband is personal distinction ; and as I believe you are on the high road to achieve that, I give my full permission to as early a marriage as may be agreeable to you both.' Mr. Walgrave bowed, in acknowledgment of this concession, without any outward semblance of rapture; but as they were both Englishmen, Mr. Vallory ex pected no such demonstration. 'You are very generous, my dear sir,' said the younger man quietly ; ' I am Augusta's slave in this matter ; her will is mine.' ' So be it. I leave you to settle the business be tween you. But there is one point that I may as well explain at once — my late partner Harcross's will is rather a remarkable one, and provides for the event of Augusta's marriage. He was a peculiar man in many ways, my old friend Harcross, and had a monstrous reverence for his own name ; not that he ever pretended that any Harcrosses came over with the Conqueror, or when the Conqueror came were all at home, or anything of that kind.

His grandfather was a self-made man, and the Har crosses were a sturdy, self-reliant race, with an ex traordinary opinion of their own merits.' Mr. Walgrave raised his eyebrows a little, wondering whither all this rambling talk was drift ing. ' And to come to the point at once,' continued Mr. Vallory, ' my good friend left it as a condition of his bequest, that whoever Augusta married, her husband should assume the name of Harcross. Now the question is, shall you have any objection to that change of name ?' Hubert Walgrave shrugged his shoulders, and raised his eyebrows just a shade higher. ' Upon my word I don't see why I should object,' he said. ' The proposition seems a little startling at first, as if one were asked to dye one's hair, or something of that kind. But I suppose any shred of reputation I may have made as Walgrave will stick to me as Harcross.' ' Decidedly, my dear boy ; we wiU take care of that,' Mr. VaUory answered. ' There is no name better known and respected in the legal profession than the name of Harcross.

As Hubert Walgrave you may be a very clever fellow ; but as Hubert Harcross you will be associated with one of the oldest firms in the Law List. You will be no loser pro fessionally by the change, I can assure you.' ' Then I am ready to take out letters patent when ever you and Augusta desire me to do so. " Hubert Walgrave Harcross," not a bad signature to put at the foot of a letter to the free and independent electors of Eatanswill, when I go in for a seat in Parliament by and by. Hubert Harcross — so be it ! What's in a name, and in my name of all others, that I should cherish it ?'

Chapter II. Richard

REDMAYNE's RETURN. A great ship far out at sea, an English ship home ward bound, from Melbourne to the port of Liverpool, and among the passengers on board her one Richard Redmayne, agriculturist, gold-digger, and general spe culator, saihng back to the home of his forefathers. He is returning to England sooner than he had hoped to return by at least a year. Things have gone well with him during the last eighteen months ; almost as weU as he had fancied they might go in his daydreams under the old cedar at Brierwood, in those summer-afternoon reveries in which he had watched his daughter's face athwart the smoke of his pipe, and thought what a grand thing it would be to go out to Australia and make a fortune for her. He has done it. For a long time the Fates seemed against him ; it was dreary work living the hard rough life, toiling from misty morning to mistier evening, facing all weathers, holding his own against all competitors, and with no result.

Many a time he had wished himsetf back in England — ay, even with Brierwood sold to strangers, and only a field and a cottage left him — but a field and a cottage in Eng land, with English flowers peeping in at his case ment, EngUsh fare, English cUmate, and his daugh ter's sweet face to make the brightness of his life. What did it all matter ? he asked himself sometimes. Did a big house and many acres constitute happiness ? Had his broad fields or goodly rick-yards consoled him in the early days of his widowhood, when the loss of his fair young wife made all the universe seem dark to him ? A thousand times, no. Then welcome poverty in Kent, among the orchards and hop-gardens, with the daughter of his love. He had been sick to the heart when the tide turned. His first successes were not large ; but they cheered him beyond measure, and enabled him to write hopefully home.

Then he fell into companion ship with a clever adventurer, a man who had a smattering of science, and a good deal of rough genius, in his peculiar way ; a man who was great upon the chemistry of soils, but lacked a strong arm, and Herculean muscles, like Rick Redmayne's ; whereby there arose a partnership between the two, in w-hich the farmer was to profit by the knowledge of Mr. Nicholas Spettigue, the amateur chemist, while Mr. Spettigue on his part was to reap a fair share of the fruits of Rick Redmayne's labour. The business needed four men to work it well ; so they took a brace of sturdy MUesians into their company, whose labours were to be recompensed by an equit able share in the gains ; and with these coadjutors began business in real earnest. Nicholas Spettigue had got scent of a virgin gulley, beyond Wood's Point, a little way off the beaten track, and reputed worth working.

The four men went in quest of this El Dorado alone, and camped out together for a spell of many months, toiling manfully, remote from the general herd of dig gers ; standing knee-deep in running water for hours on end, rocking the cradle with a patience that surpassed the patience of maternity ; living on one unvarying fare of grilled mutton and damper, with unlimited supplies of strong black tea, boiled in a ' biUy,' and unmollified by tbe produce of the cow. They slept in a cavern under one of the sterile hills that sheltered their Pactolus, and slept none the less sweetly for the roughness of their quarters. Not VOL. II. c very long did they hold the secret of their discovery : other explorers tracked them to their land of pro mise, and set up their claims in the neighbourhood ; but Mr. Spettigue had spotted the best bit in the dis trict, and Fortune favoured him and his Kentish partner.

They w-ere not quite so lucky as a certain Dr. Kerr, who, in the early days of the gold dis coveries at Bathurst, found a hundredweight of gold one fine morning on his sheep-walk, lying under his very nose as it were, where it had lain throughout his proprietorship of the land, and might have so lain for ever, had not an aboriginal shepherd's eye been caught by the glitter of a yellow streak amidst the quartz. They did not fall upon monster nuggets, but by patience and toil realised a profit varying from ten pounds a week per man to forty. When they had exhausted, or supposed they had exhausted, their field of operations, they divided the spoil. Richard Redmayne's share came to something more than three thousand pounds. All he owed in England could be paid with half the amount. He had seen a good deal of the country since he had been out — had seen something of its agricultural capabilities, and wanted to see more ; so now that the chief business of his exile was accomplished, he gave himself a brief holiday in which to explore the wild sheep-walks of this new world.

He was not a man who loved money for its own sake ; and having now more than enough to pay his debts, and set him going again in the dear old Kentish homestead, he had no desire to toil any longer ; much to the sur prise and vexation of Nicholas Spettigue, who had his eye upon a new district, and was eager to test its capabilities. ' I shaU have to look out for a new pal,' he said. ' But I doubt if I shall ever find an honest man with such a biceps as yours, Rick. If you'd only keep on with me, I'd make you a millionaire before we shut up shop. But I suppose you're homesick, and there's no use in saying any more.' ' I've got a daughter, you see,' Richard Redmayne said, looking down with a thoughtful smile, ' and I want to get back to her.' ' As if I didn't know all about your daughter,' ex claimed Mr. Spettigue, who had heard of Grace Red mayne very often from the fond father's lips. ' Why don't you write to her to come out to the colony ?

You might settle her somewhere comfortably, and go on with your work up here, till you were as rich as one of the Rothschilds.' Richard Redmayne shook his head by way of an swer to this proposition. ' A colonial life wouldn't suit Gracey,' he said ; ' she's too tender a flower for that sort of thing.' ' I daresay she's an uncommonly pretty girl,' Mr. Spettigue remarked in his careless way, ' if she's any thing like you, mate.' ' Like me !' cried the farmer ; ' she's as much like me as a lily's like me — she's as much like me as a snowdrop is like a sunflower. If you can fancy a water-lily that's been changed into a woman, you can fancy my daughter Grace.' ' I can't,' answered the practical Mr. Spettigue. ' I never was good at fancying, and if I could, your water-lily-faced woman is not my style.

I like a girl with cheeks as red as peonies, and plenty of flesh on her bones, with no offence meant to you, Rick.' So the partnership was dissolved, and Richard Redmayne bought himself a horse, and set off upon an exploring expedition among the sheep-farms. In the course of these wanderings, in which he met with much hospitality and kindness in solitary homesteads, where his bright face and cheery voice •won a joyous welcome, Mr. Redmayne came upon a lowland farm in Gypps Land, whose owners bad fallen on evil days; the rough loghouse was empty, the land neglected, and a family of vagabond wanderers who had taken up their abode in one of the barns told him that the estate was to be sold by auction at Melbourne, in something less than a fortnight. He went over the land, and his practised eye was quick to perceive its value.

It had been badly worked, and the man who owned it had gone at a rapid pace to the dogs ; but the occupants of the barn told Mr. Redmayne that this late proprietor had drunk him self into delirium tremens three or four times a year, and had squandered every sixpence he earned playing ' poker' and other equally intellectual games with any wandering stranger whom Providence sent in his way. The farm had faUen into bad odour by reason of his non-success, and had been put up to auction already, and withdrawn from sale, the biddings not reaching the reserved price which the late owner's trade assignees had put upon it. ' You might get it by private con track, I dessay,' said the man, when he perceived Mr. Redmayne's in clination to buy, ' if you was to look sharp about it, and make yer hoffer to the hauctioneer between this and nex' Toosday week.' Richard Redmayne was fascinated by the place, which was called Bulrush Meads, there being a considerable tract of low-lying meadow land, with abroad stream meandering through it, richly fringed with tall bulrushes — superb land for stock.

There was hill as well as dale, and the site of the rough log dwelling-house was as picturesque as anything be had seen in his holiday ramble. What a king he might be here with Grace ! he thought to himself. The life would not be rough for her, safe sheltered under his wing, and with honest Kentish lasses for her servants. His quick eye told him how the place might be improved : a roomy parlour built out on one side, with a wide verandah supported by rustic pillars, a pleasant shelter beneath which his darling might sit and work on sunny afternoons. And what a prospect for those gentle eyes to gaze upon ! what a varied sweep of hill and valley, bright silver streamlet flashing athwart greenest of meadows, a thousand sheep looking no bigger than so many daisies upon the distant uplands, a blue lake that was vast as an inland sea in the foreground, and far away on the left of the landscape a forest of almost tropical richness !

A couple of bedrooms could be added above, wooden like the rest of tbe house, which was strongly though roughly built. Vines and pumpkins climbed to the shingle roof, and all kinds of flowers, brighter and larger than the blossoms of bis native land, overran 'the neglected garden. On one side of the low rambling edifice there was an orchard of peach-trees ; on the other a grove of cabbage-palms, eighty feet high, their tall trunks en twined by a luxuriant flowering parasite ; a giant fig tree spread its broad leaves near at hand, side by side with a huge stinging-nettle tree, all a-glitter with sUvery spiculæ, Uke a vegetable needle manufactory. The fancy once having seized upon him was not to be put away. He was very fond of Brierwood — fond with a traditional love which was an instinct of his mind ; but he had always been more or less cramped in that narrow orbit.