Not a Heroine. A novel

Front matter

' Wait, and Love himself will bring The drooping flower of knowledge changed to fruit Of wisdom. Wait : my faith ia large in Time, And that which shapes it to some perfect end." Alfred Tennyson. PKINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY HDINHURGH AND LONDON % S»i»i. BT MES BROOKFIELD, AUTHOR OF "INFLUENCE," "ONLY GEORGE," ETC. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE. 1873. [All riahtt reserved.] CONTENTS OF VOL. II. chapter paoe I. PAUL FINDS A CLUE 1 II. A LETTER FROM MR ORDE 13 III. NOTHING DIES 26 IV. INTERVIEW WITH DR FABER 47 V. NOTES OF WARNING 58 VI. RETURNED HOME 76 VII. AN EPISODE 95 VIII. DR FABER'S ADVICE 104 IX. BT SHE FOUNTAIN 128 X. FRIENDS AND COUSINS . 141 XI. WAITING FOR THE CRISIS 158 XII. ' IMMENSELY HAPPY ' 168 XIII. A MAN WITH A PAST 191 XIV. AN ACT OF REPARATION 208 XV. TOO LATE 226 XVI. ' BE MERCIFUL ! ' 234 XVII. NO DIGNITY 251 XVIII. ' OUT OF THE DEEP ' .261 XIX. DAYLIGHT

Chapter I. Paul Finds

A CLUE. Paul did not feel quite easy in making these inquiries without Mrs Morant's sanction, and he awakened Lavinia early in the morning, to ask if she would go to Princes Gate, and men tion his hope of finding out something through Mr Orde's correspondents. ' They don't breakfast till ten o'clock,' La vinia said, ' and I shall only find Catherine in her bathroom if I go now ; but, under the circumstances, I am willing to go and howl to her outside her door. My impression is, she does not wish her husband to come back. But we vol. n. A are all curious enough to want to know why he disowns her ; and though she may be, on the w7hole, glad to be rid of him, I think she would like to have some explanation of his conduct.' ' Why should she be glad to be rid of him . ' asked Paul severely. ' Because I believe she prefers somebody else,' Lavinia answered. ' I have often told you so before — it is nothing new.

Catherine is a weak fool, and Horace Ormonde is a thorough man of the world, an accomplished " Gay Lothario." ' Lavinia,' Paul said with emotion in his voice, ' I blame myself as much as I do you for having believed this. We are both of us mis taken. Mrs Morant spoke of Ormonde last night, as a friend who had been kind to her, with a dignity, a frankness, which entirely reassured me. It is because I have thouo-ht dl of her unjustly, that I am resolved to try and help her now, to the best of my power.' ' Dear old Paul ! you are credulous, my dear, but I like you the better for it. Mrs Scuda more told me that her husband saw Horace Ormonde's affectionate farewell scene with Catherine, at the railway station, and she said that he brought her home sobbing like a chdd.' ' Gossiping idiot ! why could not he hold his tongue . — and what does it prove \ Only that Ormonde had been a very kind friend to Mrs Morant, as she told me herself — quite simply, last night.

Of course she was sorry when he went away, and left her in all her trouble and perplexity, with nd better friends about her than you and I, Lavinia. We have behaved very badly. Don't let us talk of it any more — avoid Airs Scudamore, my dear child. Only go and ask Mrs Morant's leave for my making some inquiries about Mr Orde, and make haste back to me.' Lavinia returned within an hour from Princes Gate, with a little pencd-note, which said — ' Dear Paul, — Pray ask any questions you like. I expect nothing, and hope nothing ; but it is kind of you to try to help me. — Yours sincerely, Catherine Morant.' Paul had decided to go at once to Wrexmore, to inquire there if the addresses on any of Mr Orde's letters could be remembered. He thought it worth while, however, to call first at the office of the Society for the Propagation of the Gos pel, to see the reports of Mr Orde's mission.

There was nothing in any of these papers, how ever, which could throw any light upon Mr Orde's last day with Kenelm Morant ; and Paul pursued his way to Wrexmore by the next train. He decided to waste no time in a visit to Mr Freeman, but to go at once to the village post-office. Here he asked his way to Mr Orde's old lodgings, and he was directed to the farm house where Captain Morant had stayed with him. The rooms were let to the new curate, but he was not at home, and the farmer's wife was tiresome and long-winded in her talk, but Paul's patience did not give way. He obtained no information here, however. ' Mr Orde wrote a good many letters,' the wo man said, ' but what he wrote he usually posted for himself.' The girl who used to live with them as servant in Mr Orde's time was married, and lived in the village. ' She oftentimes went to the post with letters for Mr Orde.

Her name now is Sharpe, and sharp I hope she '11 be for you, sir,' the woman added with a foolish giggle. ' The white cottage at the end of the street is her husband's — you can't miss it.' Paul found Mrs Sharpe a quick-witted young woman, with a good-natured countenance. All the village knew that Captain Morant did not write to his wife, and that their favourite, Miss Catherine, was very unhappy in her marriage. If Kenelm had been within reach of the Wrexmore villagers, he would have run great risk of being exposed to Lynch law, and at all events, ducked in the village horse-pond, or burnt in effigy, by these faithful family retainers. Mrs Sharpe would do anything to serve the good cause of investigating Captain Morant's misconduct. ' He danced like an acrobat at our vidage feast; but he will dance to a different tune if he ever comes and turns his toes out here again,' she said. ' He would not have the face to do it.

But about Mr Orde's letters, sir — he used to write mostly to Reverends ; but there was a Miss Orde he wrote to sometimes.' ' That sounds hopeful,' Paul said. ' Can you remember where she lived V ' Stop a minute, and I'll tell you,' said Mrs Sharpe ; and pulling open the drawer of an oldfashioned bureau which stood against the wall, she took out a cedar desk, on the lid of which there was a little printed sketch of Keswick, with the name beneath it. ' That 's the place, sir,' Mrs Sharpe said triumphantly. 'Mr Orde gave me this writing-desk wThen he was going away, and he said he had bought it a long time ago, when he was staying with his aunt at Keswick, and this was a picture of the place. I used to see the same name on his letters — "Miss Orde, Keswick.'" ' I am very much obliged to you,' Paul said. ' I see you are getting ready some very little clothes ; please let me give you the cradle ; ' and shaking hands with Mrs Sharpe, he left a sovereign on the table, and hastened back to the train again.

The quickest way to the Lake Country would be through London. He ate some dinner there at the Euston Square Sta tion, without going home, and started by the night-mail for Keswick. As Paul changed — in the early morning — into the local line of radway, he felt the soothing influence of the sound of the rushing brooks, and drank in with delight the exquisite tints of the mossy rocks, lighted up by the rising sun, with the soft un dulating mountain lines beyond, illuminated also with the 'golden rose of dawn.' Paul was glad to find, on his arrival at Kes w7ick, that a Miss Orde, an elderly lady, was still living there. He went to the hotel, re freshed himself by a bath and a good breakfast, and then soon after ten o'clock he went to call upon Miss Orde. She wras a kind, careworn woman, dressed w7ith extreme simplicity, and w7as starting on some charitable errand, with a little basket on her arm, when Paul arrived. ' You have met my nephew at Wrexmore \ You know him a little ?

Pray come in ;' and she took Paul into her little sitting-room, and drew7 up the blind to give him a better view of the lake. 'You are sure you have had breakfast 1/ Paul checked these kindly overtures by a courteous gesture, which showed that he had something important to say. Miss Orde sat down and listened with patient attention, while Paul briefly explained exactly wThat he w7anted to know. He ended by saying — ' Can you recollect any mention of Captain Morant in any of your nephew's last letters 1 ' ' Of course I can,' Miss Orde answered ; ' it is very extraordinary you did not hear of it. Cap tain Morant was struck by lightning at Gib raltar, and was insensible for an hour or two. There was a terrific storm, Cyril said. . Captain Morant fell flat on his face, as if he were shot. Stay, I will not go on describing it by memory ; I have his letter, you shall read it for yourself — indeed, you may take it away and show it to your friends, if it will be of any use ; ' and Miss Orde pulled out her bunch of keys with trem bling alacrity, unlocked a drawer filled with papers neatly tied up and labelled, and taking out a small packet which w7as inscribed ' Cyril's letters,' she found one from Alexan dria, written only a few days after the storm at Gibraltar, and describing Kenelm's accident.

Miss Orde's love for her nephew, naturally led her to dwell more upon his happy escape than upon his friend's danger ; and Paul's anxiety to read all that concerned Captain Morant without delay, had to be kept in abeyance, whilst she continued to grasp the precious letter in her hand, and explained how Cyril was her only near relation, and how good and kind he had always been to her. ' He used to write regularly once a month to me, as long as he was in England,' she said ; ' and I miss these frequent letters much. They were my greatest delight, for I very rarely saw him — perhaps once in two or three years ; you know how devoted he always was to his work; and now it may be many, many months, I fear, before I hear from him again. But he is upheld by a stronger arm than mine, and, whether living or dying, I am persuaded he will ever be with the Lord.' Paul now cordially shook hands with Miss Orde. ' Don't think me ungrateful,' he said, ' if I go aw7ay directly with your letter to London.

I don't yet know when the next train starts, but you can easily understand that, with a clue like this in my hand, thanks to your kindness, I should be very apathetic if I did not go off as soon as possible, to consult with Captain Morant's friends. I do not know what effect this stroke of lightning may have had on him, nor indeed how it can possibly bear in the least upon his subsequent conduct ; but some scientific physician may explain it, or may trace a connection — one never knows.' ' Will you promise to let me know the result of your inquiries ? ' asked the kind Miss Orde ; ' and some day, perhaps, you wiU pay me a less hurried visit, and let me show you some of our lovely lake scenery. I will not detain you a moment longer now, but will bid you God speed with all my heart ;' and with her friendly smile, she shook hands with him, and said, ' Good-bye ! '

Chapter II

A LETTER FROM MR ORDE. Directly Paul reached the hotel, he read the letter with the greatest eagerness. 'On arriving at Gibraltar,' Cyril wrote, 'it was found that our steamer had something wrong with her machinery, and would be detained for eight hours. Morant kindly proposed to make use of this interval to show me something of the country surrounding the Rock. It was very good of him, for he of course knows Gibraltar as well as you and I know Keswick, and no doubt he was anxious to go on board his new ship as soon as possible ; but he declared he would " stick to me like a limpet." The Sappho was in the bay, and the Captain's gig came off at once to fetch us on shore. We landed at the "Ragged Staff," which is close to the Alameda, a public garden beautifully laid out, where the military bands play.

Morant desired the officer in charge of his boat to come back and fetch him from the P. and 0. in eight hours' time. He was resolved to stay with me to the last. We sat down in the Alameda, and added a few pencil-lines to our letters for Eng land. Poor Morant ! married only for one week, and obliged to leave his young bride so soon ! It was hard for, him, and I could see, as he closed his letter to her, the tears were in his honest blue eyes. He has a most affectionate heart. Though a confirmed celibate myself, I can feel for him. He looks forward, however, to his wife's joining him at Malta ere long. Morant now proposed a ride to San Roque, which he said would be far more worth while than climbing up the gaUeries. All was equaUy new to me, and a country ride would be more refresh ing after our sea-voyage than mere sight-seeing in the town.

We walked to a livery stable, hired a couple of Spanish hacks, and started for San Roque, which is a little Spanish town, about five miles from "Gib," as Morant, I observe, always calls it, quite seriously. I suppose it is a bit of nautical slang. We rode through the main street, where we stopped a moment to post our letters. I was much in terested in the novelty of the scene. The street was crowded with all sorts of nationalities — Moorish Jews from Tangiers, Spanish peasants in costume, smart English soldiers reminding us of home. We passed through the fortifica tions, across the neutral ground, through the Spanish sentries, tdl we got on to the beautiful broad beach. The view there is lovely. On either side of us was the blue Mediterranean, crow7ded with shipping — the peninsula at this point is not a mile wide.

Behind us was the Rock, rising almost perpendicularly out of the water — the beautiful outlines of the African coast forming the background — whilst in front were the white houses of San Roque, glistening in the sun, with the snow range of the Sierra Nevada in the distance. I longed to have remained here longer, but remembering that the P. and 0. would certainly wait for no man, and that our time was but limited, we turned off this beautiful beach on to the miserable apology for a road, intending to see a little more of the country. About half a mile from the town, on the left hand side, stands a large wooden crucifix, which Morant pointed out to me as marking the spot where a murder was committed. I took off my hat, as I always do in presence of this sacred symbol. Poor Morant pained me a good deal by laughing at this act of reverence, and calling me a benighted Papist, asking why I professed to be a Protestant whilst I held Catholic doctrine \ We had some serious talk as we rode on to the town to get some refresh ments, including a glass of the famous milk punch of San Roque, which Morant insisted on my tasting, as it appears to be weU known to aU visitors at Gibraltar.

I can't say I particularly appreciated it. We were now ready to start on our return to the steamer ; but storms arise so suddenly in this part of Spain, that the sky appeared to change all at once, and a severe storm was soon threatening us. We were ad vised, of course, to defer our return, but what could we do 1 I should have lost my passage to Alexandria if we had waited. The storm, too, might blow over, I thought ; at any rate, I foUowed Morant's advice, and we left San Roque at a smart trot, thunder rolling grandly in the distance. The lightning w7as sublime, lurid to a degree, and so vivid that, as we reached VOL. II. B that part of the road near the crucifix, to which I before referred, our horses refused to go on ; the poor beasts were startled and alarmed. We looked for shelter, deciding to give the horses at least a few minutes' rest.

The crucifix stands in a little path, on one side of which is a high bank and a cactus hedge, which afforded toler able shelter from the storm. Here we dis mounted, and tied the horses to the hedge. You wdl understand that, in presence of the symbol of all that we hold most precious in life and in eternity, the terrific nature of the storm impelled me to kneel before this crucifix. A strange calm came over me as I knelt there, and felt the sacred bond of pain between my self and my Divine Master. " AU is weU ! " I found myself repeating ; " neither life nor death shall separate me from His love." And now, my dear aunt, I must tell you how, once more, Morant's strange Protestant narrowness pursued him in our hour of common peril. He has no sense of fear. " Get up, Orde," he cried, in his usual cheerful tone ; "it is blasphemy, sheer idolatry, to say your prayers before a graven image.

Kneel if you like, pray as much as you choose ; but to see you prostrating your self before a mere piece of wood, like a China man before his mumbo-jumbo, is too absurdly childish." He came and pulled me by the shoulder. " We must mount and get back, old boy," he said; there is no more time to lose." I would not aggravate him by any reply, but I once more buried my face in my hands, and prayed for divine protection before rising from my knees, when there came a most appal ling crash, and a peal of thunder worse than any that had gone before. My impression was that our last moment had now indeed arrived. As the deafening roar subsided, I looked aroimd me. Half blinded and bewddered as I was, I started to my feet in horror. The crucifix, under whose shelter I had sought and found protection, had been struck by lightning, and in its faU had knocked Morant down to the ground.

It was an awful moment. At first I believed him to be dead. " The one is taken and the other left ! " I cried aloud ; " Oh, may God receive his soul !" There he lay before me, to all appearance dead, whilst the sacred em blem which he had despised was the instrument of his fall. This was strangely impressive to me, even at that awful moment, and I cannot but hope it will have made a lasting impression upon him. He was wanting in reverence, but not in true piety, thank God ! I staggered towards the helpless body of my friend, tore open his necktie and shirt, and rested my hand upon his heart. A thrill of hope ran through me, as I fancied I could detect a faint fluttering of life. I took off a gold chain with a locket, which he always wore round his neck. It contained a portrait of his wife.

Poor feUow ! he had shown it to me only a few days before, and told me it was the only remembrance he had of her. In my agitation and distress, I left it on the ground, and entirely forgot it, until we were at the Ragged Staff again, on our way to the steamer. I told the officer on guard there, and he very kindly promised to try and recover it, and forward it to the Sappho ; but I am much afraid it is gone for ever. Before many minutes had elapsed, you may imagine my thankfulness when I heard the sound of approaching wheels, and a calesa appeared in sight. This is a kind of Spanish gig, with a huge hood — very picturesque, though intensely uncomfortable. Most providentiaUy it conveyed a young Spanish officer, who spoke English. He was on his way to San Roque, and having to be there on duty, could not return with us ; but he at once decided to give up his carriage to us, whilst he took our horses on with him, and promised to see they were sent back safely.

I paid him for their hire, for which he most kindly undertook to be responsible, and, with his help, Morant was lifted into the gig. He instructed the driver what to do on our arrival at Gibraltar, and was, indeed, a good Samaritan to us both. It was now raining hard, but the violence of the storm had abated. Morant continued in sensible, in spite of the jolting and discomfort of our drive. We got him into the first boat we could find off the Ragged Staff, — officers, soldiers, and sadors all ready and anxious to give a helping hand ; and whether it was the familiar plash of the waves, or that the shock had now worn itself out, once in the boat, he soon began to show signs of returning con sciousness. He had a vague, dazed look at first, but he answered, " I am all right," when we spoke to him ; and as soon as we got him on board, and the surgeon had carefully exa mined him, he reported that no serious harm was done, so far as he could judge.

The crucifix must have struck his head with considerable violence, and it appeared that the same flash of lightning which threw down the crucifix must also have struck Morant, though but slightly. His hair was singed a little, and the surgeon could feel the bruise caused by the blow he received ; but Kenelm very soon became him self again, enjoyed some tea, washed his face and hands, begged us " not to be uneasy about him, as he was really perfectly weU ; " and directly the Captain's gig from the Sappho came alongside, he shook hands with us all, and went over the ship's side and into the boat writh all his old alacrity. Our steam was up, and we were just starting as he left us. The rain was now pouring down in torrents. I called out to Kenelm, " Take care of yourseU ; we have both of us had a narrow escape."

He looked up with his old gay laugh, waved his cap, and called out something I could not hear, but it evidently meant that there was nothing the matter with him, and I trust all is well. He has had many a hair's-breadth escape in his life before now, no doubt, whilst my time for such adventures has only now begun. I never saw any one who was struck with lightning before, and never knew myself to have been so near a sudden death. I was but three yards from Morant. The crucifix feU obliquely upon him. Had it fallen straightforward, it must have killed me. Our surgeon said he did not fear any after-results from the stroke of lightning, but he was not quite satisfied as to the severity of the knock which he received on his head. He would like to have been able to watch the case for a few days longer.

But no doubt there is a competent doctor on board the Sappho. Dear old Kenelm will, I trust, live for many years to come, without any ill effect from this adventure. It is a bond between him and me henceforth. We have shared a moment of great peril together, and I trust we have both of us laid the warning to heart, and that we shall for the future, watch more zealously for that solemn hour, which must come sooner or later to each one of us.'

Chapter III. Nothing

dies. Upon his arrival in London, at a late hour the same evening, Paul drove at once to the Ayl mers' house ; it was not yet twelve o'clock, but they kept early hours, and aU was dark and shuttered up ; and he was obliged to go home, and content himself with only teUing Lavinia that night the curious result of his inquiries. They sat together in the dining room, whilst Paul ate some supper, and de scribed his two days' adventures. ' I am very glad you went to Keswick,' Lavinia said, ' if only because you will show that feeble little Catherine how much better worth having deeds are than words. You have done something towards clearing up the great mystery of her life. Horace Ormonde, in a dastardly manner, took advantage of her miserably forlorn position to make her fall in love with him, for which I loathe and despise him, as much as I love and reverence you.' ' I am much obliged to you, my dear,' an swered Paul carelessly, ' but I can't say I par ticularly care to be the subject of these vivid contrasts in your imagination.

Nobody knows anything about Mrs Morant's private feelings. I don't think she is likely to confide them to you — you are much too Spartan to suit her; and I am sure you know stiU less of Horace Ormonde. And as for my expedition,' Paul added with a yawn, ' it was very exciting — I felt Hke an amateur detective. Good night ! I am more than haU asleep.' Margaret Aylmer was just making the tea at the breakfast-table in their pleasant oldfashioned villa at Brompton, or, as it would be called now, South Kensington. Her father and mother were not yet in the room, wken the servant announced, ' Mr Ogleby.' ' Oh ! have you heard anything 1 ' Margaret cried eagerly, as Paul shook hands with her. ' I am sure you have discovered something — tell me quickly what it is.' ' It is not very much,' Paul answered, ' but I have found a clue which may lead to something.' It seems Morant was struck with lightning at San Roque near Gibraltar ; he was insensible for an hour or so, after which he recovered consciousness, and appeared to have sustained no injury except a bruise on the head.

This is described in a letter from Mr Orde to an aunt of his at Keswick. You can read it if you like — here it is.' ' My dear Paul, how did you find this out ? — where have you been \ ' Margaret asked, reading the letter, however, at the same time as she spoke. ' I only went to Wrexmore, and made some inquiries there about Mr Orde's relations. It is the oddest thing in the world that Freeman, the clergyman on the spot, could not do such an obvious thing in all these months — that he never tried to find out anything through his old curate's friends. I found his aunt, Miss Orde, at Keswick, without the least diffi culty.' ' I am glad you have done it,' Margaret said, and she gave Paul her hand as she spoke, with a look of affectionate approbation, which made his heart throb. He could not speak, but he kissed her hand ; and perhaps, if a whole day, instead of three minutes' tete-d-tete, had been before them, these two young people might have agreed from that moment to have loved each other for ever.

But even if he had had the day before him, Paul felt it was a wrong opportunity to plead for himself, when he had been able to do a small service for Margaret's sake ; it would have seemed like asking a reward — like taking an unfair advantage of a moment's gratitude, to say another word just then ; but, for that brief moment when the stately Margaret allowed him to kiss her hand, Paul was in heaven. Such flashes of happiness are landmarks in our lives, and Margaret's goodness to him this morning was a consolation to look back upon for many future days to come. The sunshine streamed into the comfortable oak-panelled dining-room, as Mrs Aylmer opened the door with letters in her hand. ' My dear Paul, you have come to breakfast \ how very nice of you ! — ring the beU please. Your father wiU be here in a minute, Mar garet ; he will read prayers.

I have news from Marion. Wrexmore is much better ; they really talk of bringing him home for the sum mer. Mr Ormonde seems to have been of the greatest possible use and comfort.' Mr Aylmer now appeared, followed by the servants. Prayers were read, breakfast was begun, and then Margaret spoke of Captain Morant again. Mr Orde's letter was read and discussed with eagerness by the whole party. At last Mr Aylmer said, in his usual character of the practical man — ' I quite admit it is in teresting to us all, my dear Paul, and very creditable to you, to have traced Captain Morant's career one step further than his last letter to his wife. He is known now to have been struck by lightning at Gibraltar, and to have recovered from it — but apres ! — what does this prove 1 Has it made him insane . — is he an idiot? — not a bit of it.