Under Sentence

Chapter I

"brother to the rose." Next day brings a few callers to Park Place, among them Mrs. Mallis, who, using the privilege of an old friend, outstays the others, and asks dear Minnie if the ball was not truly delightful ? " Lord Colintraive does not often dance so much," she says, archly. " By the way, how very pretty Joy Murray looked, didn't she ? You evidently thought so, Captain Dunkeld." Luis, who is sitting near the window, suddenly turns his head, a movement not lost ou Mrs. Mallis. VOL. II. B " I heard you were trying to bring Dick to his senses," she goes on; "he is not the rose, but brother to the rose, eh ? I understand Lord Colintraive is very much annoyed by his escapades ; he is so very fastidious, and Dick is really becoming no torious, not at all a desirable brother-in-law. So very sad !

" Cosmo does not commit himself to the utterance of a word, and as silence is a powerful weapon, Mrs. Mallis retreats, and Minnie leaves the room soon after her de parture, Luis following his sister. "What were you crying for last night, Minnie?" " Nothing," she answers ; and he retorts with : "Do you usually cry for that strong cause ? Had Joy Murray anything to do with it?" "What could she have, Luis? She is a very fast girl, I think, and likes to flirt. I never liked her, and of course she hates me. But I don't think she is worth crying about." When Minnie returns to her husband, she finds him with hat in hand, ready to go out. " Oh, Cosmo, don't go out," she says. " I wish you would stay with me this after noon. We have an encasement for to-night, you know ; don't go out now." " Very well," he says, listlessly.

" You have forgiven me for last night, haven't you ? I was foolish, very likely ; but I was so miserable. I can't bear the smallest coldness from you. I don't know when I felt so utterly wretched." " I am sorry for it, Minnie ; but I can only say as I said before, that if you would trust me we should both be happier." " Give you your own way in everything, you mean ? Leave you free to do as you B please, and never say a word when you openly slight me, and neglect me for a girl you flirted with long ago ! I shall never submit to that ! Go — go out, go where you please ! I don't care if I never see you again. Leave me ! " There is possibly nothing more irritating than to be taken at one's word. Minnie feels that the measure of her husband's ini quities is filled to overflowing, when, after a slight hesitation, a glance at her flushed, angry face, he does indeed leave her.

Meanwhile, rather an unpleasant scene has taken place between Dick and his father. A report of his son's proceedings at the ball has been carried to Mr. Murray, and the result is a fierce quarrel, Murray telling his son that he will not be disgraced by such conduct any longer. "You must give it up, or I shall give you up," he says. "I will not have your sisters' chances spoiled by your conduct; if you can't give up your present line of life, follow it by all means, but certainly not under my roof." " You needn't talk," says Dick, sulkily. " Who first taught me what you call my line of life ? You did ; you set me the example yourself, until you got tired of spreeing, and you have allowed me to do as I liked until now." " I won't listen to abuse, Richard," returns Mr. Murray, calmly ; " you have my ulti matum.

Drink as much as you please, but not as my son. You can make your choice between your family and your low associates ; only once offend in that way again, and my doors are for ever closed to you." Dick is hot, his father cool and con temptuous, and in a white heat of passion and self-scorn the young fellow goes out to encounter Charlie Bothwell, who stops him with his usual greeting, to be rudely re pulsed. "Don't talk to me," says Dick, angrily. "You are just a sneak, like that sweet friend of yours ! Birds of a feather ! " " What's wrong now ? " asks Bothwell, placidly. " I suppose you think I am a fool ? " There are times when I'm almost sure of it, Dick." "I dare say ! That is why you sneak to the pater with tales, of course. You didn't lose any time in letting him know about last night, I must say.

For the future let me and my affairs alone, and take your mischief making elsewhere ! " With which parting shot Dick walks away. For some time after this he, to use his own expression, " keeps on the straight," but the chains of habit are too strong ; he breaks out more violently than ever, and is brought home one morning with a black eye, loudly asserting his ability to " smash " any person who does not agree with him. Daylight brings remorse, and he confines himself to his own room until the traces of the latest dispute have vanished, during that period seeing nothing of his father, and expressing deep penitence to his sisters. One afternoon they have gone out with Mrs. Bonner, and Dick comes downstairs to take a constitutional. He is standing in the hall, drawing on his gloves, when the library door opens and Mr. Murray appears.

" Are you going out ? " he asks. " Yes," replies Dick, studying his boot. " Then you need not trouble yourself to come in again. Your things can be sent to any address you like." And so saying Mr. Murray returns to his book. It is done and over in a moment, with no dramatic action on either side. Dick is cast off without declamation or tragic gesture. The door of his father's house is closed against him in the most commonplace way imaginable. Dick is quite sure he doesn't care. He has a few pounds in his pocket, and plenty of friends (or he thinks so), and if the governor thinks he will go creeping back again, he is " very badly left." He writes to Joy, telling her not to worry, that he is all right, and means to make his mark in the world yet ; and this letter comes into the home-circle like a thunderclap.

Joy and Anne appeal to their father in vain ; his only reply is that Dick having chosen his own way, must be left to walk it. The rupture soon becomes public property, and many are the comments and queries to which the sisters submit. "Poor dear Dick," sighs Mrs. Mallis to Lord Colintraive; "so very sad, isn't it? Do you know, I really thought you would have done something for him." "Why so ? " asks Colin, in surprise. " Oh, for his sister's sake," she replies, archly. "You are quite mistaken," he retorts. " They are rather nice saut of girls, and I don't suppowse either would object to me ; but — well, you see, I'm not quite so easily caught." Mrs. Mallis laughs heartily. "You mustn't blame them for being ambitious, poor dears, and wishing to pro vide for themselves. Of course they will have nothing when their father dies.

So sad ! And you really don't know where Dick Murray is ? " " I neither know nor wrish to know," replies his lordship, curtly. There are indeed very few who do know where Dick is, and the first fervour of his freedom and independence over, he is not particularly anxious that any of the "old set" should know. He has gone among those wTho have feasted at his expense, won from him, borrowed from him, encouraged his follies, and finds their friendship worthy the atmosphere in which it wTas born and bred. One is awfully sorry, but deuced hard up himself; another advises him to go back to the governor if he wants aid; another openly calls him a fool, and the rest bestow that tender epithet upon him behind his back ; whilst all agree in inability to help him ever so slightly. One day when he is feeling utterly wretched, and his thoughts turn to the Thames as a final refuge, he encounters Cosmo Dunkeld.

Fain would Dick pass him, his head in the air, but the soldier bars his way. " I have been lookiug for you, my boy," he says. " Where on earth have you been hiding yourself ? " "That's my business !" replies Dick. "True. Is a reconciliation with your father quite impossible ? " Cosmo asks, tran quilly, keeping step with the young fellow. " I should jolly well think it is ! I'll starve before I go back to him. I don't defend myself one bit, mind you, but I can't help thinking it is what he wanted. You see," says Dick, in his eagerness to impart his wrongs to a willing listener, for the time forgetting Cosmo's iniquities, " I shall be of age in a twinkling, and could claim some cash but for this. He is pretty hard up as it is, and this is how he is trying to get out of paying me my share. But I am not quite so easily done."

" Well, if you will not go home, you must do something else, that's all." " I'm willing to do anything, Cosmo. I'd stand behind a counter and sell tape if need be, but I can't get anything to do. I have no money now, and shall have to pawn my watch before I know where I am. When that's done " He drawTs a long breath, aud leaves the sentence incomplete. " A post like young Maxwell's is the very thing for you," says Cosmo, thoughtfully. " A post like young Maxwell's ! " Dick repeats, with scorn. " I suppose you think that sort of thing is to be had for the asking, or is prancing about the streets waiting to be caught. I can tell you it took a lot of influence to get Maxwell his post. He's all right, of course ; baud and glove now with the begums and nabobs, whilst I am going to the deuce ! " " Not of necessity.

Will you come and have some dinner with me, Dick ? Mrs. Dunkeld and her brother are going out, and we can talk this over." Dick colours ; he looks at the ground, then at the pale, perfect face of his old idol. "Well, I don't mind," he says. "I can't help liking you, Cosmo, though I think you behaved like a cad to my sister, and though I can't forgive you for it." "Well, we will not talk about it," says Cosmo, slightly wincing. " Where are you staying ? " " Oh, with a man I know. A little artist as poor as Job, but the only fellow who would "take me in. Of course I can't go on living with him for ever." " Of course not," Cosmo agrees, debating ia his own mind the advisability of offering Dick the shelter of 45, Park Place, for a time. Arrived at that dwelling, Cosmo takes Dick into the drawing-room, after having been informed that Mr. Manuel is out.

In the lesser drawing-room Mrs. Dunkeld is lounging over a novel, and hearing footsteps, calls, " Is that you, Cosmo ? Where have you been ? " Cosmo enters the sacred precincts, and gives some low-toned explanation ; then Dick hears an angry voice exclaim : " You have brought that girl's brother to my house ? If you have no respect for yourself, have some for me ! " The door dividing the two apartments is hastily closed, but there float to Dick's ears such fragments as "My money and not yours — not to be wasted on him — I will not allow him to be here — just for her sake — you are doing your utmost to break my heart, Cosmo — I don't believe you care for me at all," etc., until the slamming of a door tells him that Mrs. Dunkeld has retired m anger. " By Jove ! " he mutters, " how matrimony changes a woman ; I used to think her all milk and honey.

Poor old Cosmo." When Cosmo returns to his guest, Dick is standing by the window, affecting to study a photo of Ellen Terry, and looks as if he has not heard a word, whilst Cosmo drops into a chair with a short quick sigh. " I fancied I heard Mrs. Dunkeld's voice," says Dick, shamelessly. " Look here, Cosmo, I would rather not meet her, if you please. I don't feel quite up to the mark, you know, and prefer to hide my diminished head at present." "It is all right," says Cosmo, beating a brief tattoo on the arm of his chair. " She is going out, and you must kindly excuse her. What about this Indian post ? Do you object to India ?" " Object to my grandmother ! I wish I were lucky enough to have the chance of going there." "You spoke of influence," says Cosmo. "Now, Charlie Bothwell helped young Max well very much.

He has influence in that quarter, and I am sure will use it on your behalf." "Yes, but I can't ask him to do it. You see, I made rather an ass of myself with Charlie. I misjudged him, and said some things to him that I'm sorry for." " Well, tell him so." " No, I can't," says Dick, so crossly that Cosmo let the subject drop. They dine together amicably, and Dick foregoes his vengeance on the man who has jilted his sister. He does not stay late, not being anxious to meet Mrs. Dunkeld, and he tells Cosmo that his artist friend will be uneasy if he fails to return soon. " Well, we must try and get this Indian post for you," says Cosmo. " In the mean time, have you any cash ? " " Not I. As far as my watch goes, it's a case of ' Here will I pledge thee, dearest one,' not that I like to do it. ' That sort of thing takes a deal of training,' but a fellow must live."

" I'll lend you this, Dick, to go on with," says Cosmo, " and you can take a word of advice with it. You know your own weak ness. Fight against it. The first victory over self makes all the other battles easy. You can do well if you try." "I will try, for your sake," says Dick, hanging his head, and then they part. When Dick is gone, Cosmo writes a letter to his old friend, BothwTell, giving a brief account of what has passed, and begging him to use his influence in Dick's favour. Next day brings him a note as formal as his own, but also the assurance that Bothwell will do all he can to get the post for Murray, and will also give some Indian friends a hint to look after the young fellow. VOL. II. Acting on Cosmo's advice, Dick makes an endeavour to see his father, but uselessly. Mr. Murray is adamant, and he ignores his son's letter, and refuses to receive him, even when he knows that with the close of the London season the young fellow will leave his native land.

He regards Dick in the light of a nuisance, and is glad to be rid of him. " So good of your dear husband to take such an interest in that scapegrace," says Mrs. Mallis to Minnie. " I should think Joy must be very grateful to him. I suppose you are not going north this season ? " "Why not? We have Auchtoo on lease, and Cosmo always goes up for the shooting." " He used to do, my dear, of course." " There is no reason why he should not do so now," says Minnie, rather defiantly. Does Mrs. Mallis think he is ashamed of his wife, or that she is afraid of meetiuothat girl amid old scenes where old associa tions throng ? Go north they must and shall, she tells herself, little knowing what black shadow hangs brooding over those future days ; little knowing into what depths of terror, despair, and agony her undisciplined soul shall be plunged. c

Chapter II

"ONE BY TRICKS." The old set, with but few exceptions, have returned to Glenbar; Charlie and his party, the Maxwells ; and the doors of The Gowans are again opened, the flag floats merrily on Colintraive Castle, and there is sign ot life in dull Auchtoo. History does not always repeat itself, es pecially in point of weather ; last season was particularly bright and fine, this is wet and misty, and sportsmen follow their favourite pursuits under difficulties, in drenching showers and bitter winds ; nevertheless there are days of brilliant sunshine when the skies seem more blue and clear because of the vanished mist, and grass and fern and heather more fresh and fair. On such a day Captain Dunkeld treads the old familiar ways in thoughts tinged with melancholy, walking musingly along the well-known roads ; he hears the murmur of unseen water, and the rustle of the trees in Benvrackie Wood.

Up to the vast sanctuary of cloudless sky stretch the mountains, so bright, so filled with silent majesty, that they might be indeed " the clear blue hills of heaven where white-robed angels walk." He knows the place but too well ; each turn of the road, each change, remind him of the days gone by, of a young man's faith and trust wrecked. Here is the very spot where they stood, he and she, parting with promise of speedy meeting again ; there, how often has he seen her come smiling as the day, through green leaves and fern ! I met my darling all alone at our old tryst to-day, I looked into her eyes so blue, I stroked her hair of gold, We kissed each other on the lips as in the days of old, he finds himself quoting, and then, as if his words have had some secret spell, he sees her all at once ; she stands under a great tree, purple heather at her feet, her cameo profile, her yellow hair, her slender figure, set against a background of deepest blue sky.

She is standing still, her eyes turned in an opposite direction ; and, with a vague, dull pain at his heart, he wonders if she is waiting for any one, and then she turns her head and sees him. If her colour changes, she is otherwise self-possessed, and gives him a faint, slow smile as she asks if he is going to The Gowans, in an indifferent, matter-of-fact tone. " No," he replies, " I have been wandering about with no fixed purpose in view. " I also," she returns, and he is conscious of relief that she is not keeping tryst after all with another, Coliu for instance. " The house is very quiet when they are all off to the moors." She busies herself with the collar of her dog, and, after a pause, looks at him with a grave, sweet composure, born of great effort. " I have had no opportunity before to day," she says, " of thanking you for your kindness to Dick.

He told me all that you did for him, and Anne and I felt that you were very good to him." " I only did what I could," says Cosmo. The colour has left his lips. To have her beside him as of old, yet more surely separated than if death itself intervened, is agony ; no less so the sound of her voice, the grave, calm eyes, and steadfast mouth, so unlike the laughing, airy girl of his love. " I only did what I could. He will be better out there, I think and I hope." "Yes, I think he will. His only chance was the being separated from those com panions wdio knew how to play on his weakness. Poor Dick ! He was very grateful to you." They walk on in silence for some time, then Joy pauses amid the clustering trees. " I must go in," she says, with a slight motion of her head in the direction of home.

" Mrs. Dunkeld is well, I hope ? And Mr. Manuel ? " "They are both well, thank you." " Good afternoon," she says, calmly, with a conventional smile, but no offered hand, as he is quick to notice. " Oh ! " he says, losing some little of his self-control. " After all, cannot you and I be friends ? Why should we go through life enemies or strangers?" " Enemies ! " she repeats. " We surely shall never be that ? " " Well, then, let there at least be friend ship," he says, misery in his white face and dark eyes ; " let us meet with less cold ness, with more of kindness and forgiveness on each side." " What you ask is utterly impossible ; between you and me there never can be friendship." " Why not ? " "You know. Why do you mock me like this ? For it is mockery to speak so to me, to offer me friendship ; it could never exist between us, and you do not need to ask me why.

Let the past be — only, for sake of it, don't mock me with your talk of friendship." Two scarlet spots of indignation burn in her cheeks ; her lip quivers with scorn, and there is a long silence. " You may be right," says Cosmo, at length ; then he adds, rather bitterly, and possibly with less of his usual generosity : " though you were the first to offer friend ship. Am I to think that that was mockery — wilful, deliberate ? At the time it seemed so, but in calmer moments I concluded you spoke of friendship as a kind of salve for the wound you chose to inflict. Ah, Joy ! why, in Heaven's name, did you do it ? " " Do what ? " She turns on him almost fiercelv. " Why did you send back my letters as you did ? Why had not you the courage, the honesty, to tell me openly that you had ceased to care for me ; or, rather, that you preferred the Colintraive lands and title ?

" " Are you mad or dreaming ? " she demands, with passion. " How do you dare reproach me on such a score ? " He winces slightly. He sees his unhappy home ; his jealous, passionate wife ; the life of utter wretchedness to which he has been condemned by her who stands before him. But he utters no defence of himself; to excuse himself is to accuse his wife ; and whilst such men as Cosmo breathe, this age is not quite too gray for chivalry. " It is not so long ago but that we can both remember," he says ; " you treated me very cruelly ; we parted — lovers, with a promise to meet again. And when, in ac cordance with that promise, I came to the house to see you, you had gone out, and you left your father to tell me that all was over between us, to hand back my letters, and demand yours." " You — you forget," she begins, with white lips, and he interrupts her almost fiercely : " I remember only too well.

Your father received me instead of yourself, and gave me my letters by your desire. I think he was sorry for me, and he asked me if I had not observed Colintraive's attentions to you ; if I had not seen that he cared for you ? ' I have thought so at times,' I said, ' but I don't profess to understand him. Has he said that he cares for Miss Murray ? ' " " Well ? " said Joy, breathlessly. " Your father answered, ' Not to me.' Of course I saw what that implied. He gave me the letters, and told me you wished me to return yours at once. Next day I came with them, and again you avoided me. I gave the letters to your father. He was very kind, very considerate." Joy does not speak, she does not even move. " There is no mistake, is there ? " Cosmo asks, bitterly ; " no forgery to explain ? 1 don't reproach you.

God knows, I soon forgave you the agony you caused me." A low, faint cry breaks from her, and her eyes are blinded by tears. He looks at her in doubt, half inclined to say, as De Musset said of George Sand, " I believed in tears until I saw her weep." But there is no acting here ; her grief is real, what soever be its cause — tardy repentance, humilia tion, or the knowledge that of all slight and fickle things Colintraive's fancies are the slightest, the most frail and evanescent. Eagerly he looks at her as she dashes the tears aside. " Joy, was there some mistake ? " he asks, in sudden agony ; " some error which would have been set right in time ? Was I too hasty ? Oh, Heaven ! was there any treachery? Did some lie, some trick, strike you and me apart ? " She turns away from him, half stunned by the revelation of the past few moments.

Paternal diplomacy has severed true heart from true heart. All the little incidents of those days return with new meaning, and she comprehends the trick played upon her and Cosmo — the stratagem which has spoiled two lives. And Cosmo has suffered as she has suffered ; he has thought her false, and weak, and cruel. Burning indignation fires her heart and brain, and she is about to tell him — in fierce, impetuous words — the truth, when something, she knows not what, stops her. It is as if some cool, light hand were laid upon her lips, sealing them to silence. After all, she cannot tell him that the traitor is her father. What good will be done, what gained by the disclosure ? It will simply make his lot more unbearable, and it cannot undo what is done. Better, far better for him, that he should go on thinking her the faithless thing she seems; that he should despise her, forget her — anything but know the wrong done them, and that she has been loyal and true to him through all.

" Let it rest," she says, as in wild sus pense and desperate appeal he grasps her arm. " It is all over now. I only ask you to forgive me. Perhaps all the suffering has not been on your side alone." " You did it then, though, of your own free will ? And there has been no mistake ? " " Why do you ask me such questions ? " she cries, jerking herself away. " Why do you speak of what is gone by at all ? Oh, you see now, surely, how vaiu it is to speak of friendship ! Don't stay here. I beg you to go." " Well, I will," he says, sorrowfully ; " after all, the less we meet the better. Good-bye." She merely bends her head, and he leaves her, slowly walking away. Shrinking into the shade of the trees, she watches him. Once she is tempted to call him back, to say, " Oh, my heart's darling, loved first, last, and only, I have never been false to you !

We have been betrayed. There was never a moment when I did not love you, and there never can be ! " Just once does this strong temptation assail her, to be resolutely fought, subdued, and conquered. She lays her weary head against the rough bark of the tree, her eyes closed. Life is doubly hard now ; yet, after all, wrhat does true womanhood mean but sacrifice of self ? The time will come when all that is wrong shall be right, when he will knowT the truth, and life, with its frets and jars and ills, shall melt into eternal peace. How well she remembers her father coming to her room and seeing Cosmo's letters. After that he must have taken them away — returned them to Cosmo with that fictitious messjige ; aud when she, stunned, dazed, bewildered, had bade him find them, he had simply made a pretence of taking them from her desk.

What has he gained ? He has certainly separated her effectually from Cosmo ; but the wealthy suitor has not come forward — he has rather retreated. " We were wrong, we were wrong," she tells herself. " If from the very first we had told papa all, he could only have refused his consent — only have done openly what he has achieved by underhand meaus. Oh, what an innocent, harmless secret it seemed, and how heavy its punishment ! " All at once the unpleasant consciousness of being watched forces itself upon her. Flushing to her hair, she looks round, but sees no one. It is not agreeable to think that her grief has had a witness, or that any person has seen her parting with VOL II. D Cosmo, knowing, as she does, the evil power of whispering tongues. She sees no one, she hears no one. Fancy, perhaps, has deceived her, and thus trying to reassure herself, she turns homewards with a new uneasiness in her heart.