Von in spite of him

Front matter

a BY Rev. CHARLES HOUGHTON •' Ah ! Hope, Endurance, Faith — ye fail like death, But Love an everlasting crown receiveth ; For she is Hope, and Fortitude and Faith, Who all things hopeth, beareth, and believeth." Ruskin. LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVEEIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. CONTENTS. OHAP. PAGE I. Mother and Son, .... 1 II. A Face in the Moonlight, . . .12 III. A Disappearance, . . .22 IV. Saga Windsor, . . . . .31 V. On the Tennis Lawn, . . . .37 VI. The Cottage below Kell-Well, . 45 VII. Sunrise, ..... 51 VIII. Sonset, ...... 57 IX. Changes, ..... 63 X. A Strange Meeting, . . . .68 XI. A Parting, ..... 74 XII. Adrift, ...... 78 XIII. Onward, ...... 84 XIV. Sunday Experiences, . . . .91 XV. Saga has an Adventure, . . .98 XVI Social Pressure, . . . .103 XVII. The Violinist, . . . . .109 VI CONTENTS.

CHAP. PAOB XVIII. A Fading Leaf, . . . .114 XIX. Pressing On, . . . . . 118 XX. The Refusal, . . . .126 XXI. The Flight, . . . . .136 XXII. No More the Sweet Light, . . 142 XXIII. Cruel Mimicry, . . . .149 XXIV. A Modern Esau, .... 155 XXV. Shall be Wedded To-Morrow, . 165 XXVI. At the Altar, . . . .173 XXVII. An Escape, . . . . .180 XXVIII. At the Summit, . . . .188 XXIX. The Glitter of Steel, . . .194 XXX. A Sad Discovery-, .... 203 XXXI. When Duty calls, . . ■ .208 XXXII. News from Home, .... 214 XXXIII. Will He Live ! . . . .222 XXXIV. An Arrest, . . . . .229 XXXV. The Trial, . . . . .233 XXXVI. A Confession, ..... 239 XXXVII. Mine for Evermore, .... SPECIAL NOTICE.— The New and Revised Edition contains Prefatory Remarks by the RlGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P., who has read and approved the volume.

THE STANDARD WORK ON AUTHORSHIP. Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, Price 5s. ; Postage, 4Jd. (Fifth Edition. New and Revised.) THE AUTHOR'S MANUAL, Being a Complete, Practical Guide to all Branches of Journalism, Literary Work generally, and Book-producing, with special advice in reference to Imaginative Literature. By PERCY RUSSELL. Brief Extracts from some of the Reviews : — The Spectator says : — " The aspirant to Literature may certainly read Mr Russell's book with profit." The Graphic says : — " Mr Russell has got up his subject with much care, and supplies a great deal of useful information. His advice and suggestions are sound and to the point." St Stephen's Review says : — " ' The Author's Manual ' is clever to a fault. It displays much practical knowledge ... it shows a general knowledge of English literature which not one literary man in a huudred can boast."

Chapter I. Mother And Son

" Well, Claude, and why haven't you gone to the Lawn Tennis Tournament to-day *? " " Because, my darling mother," replied the young man listlessly, " I have no inclination that way." " No inclination, indeed," said the mother, with a touch of sarcasm. " Wonder if anything but a cigar could arouse that drowsy, indifferent nature of yours ! " Claude Blackwood did not speak for a time, but blew a vigorous cloud of smoke from a fragrant vanilla, and then lazily watched the thin, delicate wreaths as they curled and trembled in the air, and finally vanished. He was a fine-looking young fellow with a tall, well-knit frame, a striking face. and a curly golden moustache. " That remark of yours is scarcely complimentary, A mother dear," he said at length, with a big yawn. " I am afraid I shall never make you an ideal son.

The fact is, I have no inclinations, ideas or ambitions. In scientific language, I am a ' nonentity.' " " Pity you are not like your father," said the widow, with a suppressed sigh. "He was a noble "man, with great ambition and a most irrepressible spirit." ' 'laude pulled his golden moustache, and looked at his mother in a languid kind of fashion. Mrs Blackwood was a beautiful woman, tall and finely-built, with light brown eyes, and a face at once winsome and lovely. And yet the sensitive, mobile mouth lacked marks of strength and de termination. Weakness was stamped there, and an emptiness of will that robs character of its beauty and vigour. She had certain lofty ideas of duty and life, but no corresponding power to translate them into deeds and acts. Hence she was like a feather in the wind, tossed by every passing breeze, and driven hither and thither in opinion, will and purpose.

NIr Blackwood had been dead several years, and Claude was the only child. He had just left Oxford without having distinguished himself in any depart ment of knowledge. Only two things he had learned, viz., to dislike the society of ladies, and to love the society of a good cigar. And yet there dwelt within him — his father hud said again and again — possi- MOTHER AND SON. 3 bilities and powers that only needed the fire and force of a higher impulse to wake them into life and stir them into activity. At present those powers were dormant — the fire was latent — one day perhaps to develop and glow with surpassing energy. " Claude," said his mother later on, as they were taking tea together in the pretty little dining-room at Ryhill, " you puzzle me. You won't play tennis, or go to parties, or engage in any social or religious work.

I should like you to take part in some philanthropic enterprise. It looks well, you know, Claude. In fact, it's quite a fashionable idea now to go slumming ! " " Indeed," said Claude, opening his eyes and smiling. "I'm afraid that idea hasn't filtered into my mind. And really, mother, there's something very flippant and semi-religious, as well as fashion able, about the idea." " Claude, you make me cross," and the widow's brow clouded. " Dear me, I wish I had a son who was good and orthodox, and would take his proper position in society." " Sorry I'm such a duffer of a son," answered Claude, with mock gravity. " Pass me a few straw berries, please, mother, and don't worry about me." " There ! that's the way you always talk, Claude. But I must trouble! You know I am intensely anxious about your future welfare."

" Another cup of tea, please," said Claude, with a twinkle in his eye, at the same time pushing his cup nearer to his mother. " Sorry you trouble about me, my dear mater. I'm really -not worth the slightest thought." Mrs Blackwood smiled. " Claude ! you are a caution of a boy. What am 1 to do with you ? " "Make me into a parson. You know that in a large family, if there is an empty-headed boy, he is put into the ministry." "Claude! Claude!" " Yes, mother ? " "You are an unworthy son, and decidedly irre ligious. Do, pray — " The sentence was not finished, for at that moment a knock was heard at the door, and a servant enter ing the room presented a card. Mrs Blackwood took it and read the name — Stephen Leslie, Bell-vue, Marlborough Road, Australia. Melbourne. Mrs Blackwood turned very pale, and manifested great emotion. '• Show him in," she said feebly, at the same time making a motion to the old servant.

MOTHER AND SON. 5 " Who is it, mother ? " asked Claude laconically. " Stephen Leslie, my sister's only son, from Australia," was the answer. " I'm afraid something is the matter." " Then he is my cousin, I suppose ? " " Yes." "How is it that I did not know this before;" asked Claude, fairly roused into unusual interest. " A question that cannot be answered just now." Mrs Blackwood had only time to say this, for at that moment a young and stately man stepped into the room. He was undoubtedly handsome, with his bronzed face, his dark eyes, his glossy, raven hair and moustache of extraordinary length and density ; but, to a keen student of human nature, there was some thing hard and cruel about the mouth, and the restless eyes possessed a dogged, deceitful look. Mrs Blackwood rose to greet him.

" This is unexpected. Strange I didn't know you were coming. the matter, Stephen ? " " Thought I'd tell you in person, aunt," replied Stephen Leslie slowly. " Tell me what? " " My mother's dead.' " Dead ! Oh, dear — poor Bertha. 'Tis hard to lose husband, then estate, and then die in a foreign land," and she broke into a passion of sobs. " Yes," said Stejihen, after a while. " She was never very strong, and the constant worry and anxiety about money matters brought on the crisis. She bore up splendidly, however, until a bank in Mel bourne broke, and we lost all our money. That gave her the death-blow." " Poor Bertha ! " wailed Mrs Blackwood, with a world of sympathy in her tone. "Never lucky. Always beaten down, opposed, thwarted, and followed by the phantom of ill-luck. Now she's dead. It's all over."

Stephen Leslie seemed somewhat affected by this demonstration of grief. He stood fingering his mous tache nervously, and looking at Claude, who sat at the table in wonderment. " Did Bertha send me any last message ? " she inquired, turning again to her nephew. " Yes," said Stephen, pulling out of his pocket a letter very much crumpled and soiled. " I was to give you this, aunt." Mrs Blackwood took the letter, opened it, and read, — Melbourne, April 9th. " My darling Jess,— Just a line. I am bad ; in fact, dying. My heart aches for Stephen. I have nothing much to leave him. Will you, as a dying request, take him, and be a mother to him % God MOTHER AND SOX. 7 will reward you. Cannot write more. Good-bye until eternity. — Your loving sister, " Bertha Leslie." Mrs Blackwood looked round at Stephen, who was now seated.

How could she resist this dying appeal from her own sister ? It came to her clad with two fold force. In the first place, this was Bertha's only child, and then her love for him amounted almost to a passion. Every good impulse, every noble sentiment, every, holy feeling combined to urge ber to accept him into her home. But other considerations sprung elastic into her mind. She had her own son. Why should she take upon herself the burden and responsibility of keeping this young man ; True, she was in a good position, and possessed plenty of money, but lately she had been speculating a good deal. In fact, only just recently she had invested nearly all her money in a new company, formed for the purpose of obtaining gas from water, which, she hoped and believed, would be a grand success. What if the whole thing should fail ?

She put the thought from her. Here was her sister's only son, homeless, friendless, orphaned. Must she take him in ? She did not relish the idea. Erratic, selfish and proud, without depth and vigour of character, she disliked the encumbrance, and felt that he would soon become a nuisance or a bore. However, she must take him in— at least for the present. "Propriety" whispered in her ear that this would be prudent. With this easy-going philosophy she quieted con science, and felt a transient thrill of happiness in the exercise of such an act of self-sacrifice. " Stephen," she said, at the same time taking a rose from the flower vase and pulling it to pieces, " of course you must make your home with us. Claude really needs a companion." " Right," put in Claude, speaking for the first time, and heartily shaking hands with his cousin.

" Never knew I had a cousin in Australia until this moment." Then, for some unknown reason, Mrs Blackwood looked confused, and deftly turned the conversation. " Is your luggage here ? " " Yes ; in the hall, aunt. I can fetch it." " No ; Dinah will look after it. You'll have tea, Stephen. I expect you will be tired of travelling, and really need some refreshment." " Yes, indeed, aunt," said Stephen Leslie, laughing. " I feel an aching void within — an emptiness that one sometimes experiences in the Australian bush." Mrs Blackwood touched the bell. She was puzzled, somewhat grieved and very much annoyed. A strange current of emotion swept through her soul, and clouded her face and played havoc with her peace of mind. About a year ago she had heard very dis quieting news concerning Stephen. He was fast, gay.

MOTHER AXD SON. idle and reckless, a cause of grief to his mother, and a disgrace to an hitherto unstained and irreproachable family history. She was afraid of his influence upon Claude. She knew the subtle and stupendous power of influence to impress, subjugate ancl finally enchain a weaker will. Then there was something strange in his coming like this, without note or warning ; nor did she like his looks, manner or words. She made some pretence at being a quick and decisive judge of character. Her sister's pathetic letter, and the thought of what the world might say, alone made her take him in for the present. Presently the old servant, Dinah Jennings, came into the room. Dinah was a remarkable character. stout, large-made and coarse-featured ; her forehead was broad and square ; her nose flat and turned up a little at the end ; she had a rollicking kind of walk. and a decided cast in her eye.

" Yes, 'um," she said, at the same time nearly up setting a maiden-hair fern that stood on a wicker stand beside the door. " Dinah ! Dinah ! do mind the ferns," said Mrs Blackwood, evidently annoyed. " Sorry, 'um ; but the young gent do look like my sister's son who immigrated to Hostralia last summer. I hears that this young — " •: Dinah, fetch me some hot water," said Mrs Black wood interrupting her ; " and look quick, please ! " " I was a-saying, mum — " Dinah, you have no business to talk. Fetch me the hot water at once." '• Yes, 'um, indeed yes ! " stuttered Dinah, and after executing a semi-circle in the room, hobbled away to fetch the water. Meanwhile, Claude and his cousin were engaged in an animated conversation, chiefly about Australian life and habits. Stephen was a splendid conversationalist — graphic, humorous, fertile and magnetic.

A man with a glib tongue, who could trip off a story with the ease and rapidity of a printing press. He en chanted Claude with his tales of bush life and adven ture. He had been to the "gold diggings," and though he had not made his " pile," had seen a thing or two, and did not stop for a few lies in order to express the full range and extent of his knowledge. " You have no idea of the beauty of the country," he said to Claude. " It's grand — idyllic scenes, wonderful hills, lovely valleys — a country where there is plenty of expanse, and almost endless in resource." " There's some prime mutton there," interjected Claude, arresting the flow of fine language, and bring ing it down to the level of plain prose. " Mutton ? " echoed Stephen. " The finest in the world. The grass there is of the flavour of lamb and mint sauce.

No wonder the mutton is so sweet." " You can get it very cheap," said Claude, smiling. MOTHER AND SON. " Yes, prime legs for an old song, and they throw you the breast in for make-weight." Mrs Blackwood, who was busy in the room, looked very hard at Stephen, but said nothing. Just then Dinah came lounging into the room with the hot water, but in evident distress of mind. " Oh ! dear missus, I'm about eartbroken," she sighed, with a strange gurgling in her throat. " What's the matter ; " asked Claude, with a smile. " Why, young gent, the cat's gone and worried the canary. Poor little thing, and it's only just mouldering." Claude smiled, and bit his lip. " Dinah ! " cried Mrs Blackwood in a great temper, " please leave the room." " Beg pardon ! " she said in an apologetic tone, and then without another word turned and fled.

Claude and Stephen burst into a hearty laugh. "What a curious relic that is," said Stephen, nodding towards the door. " Both a relic and a nuisance," said Mrs Blackwood cynically. " My other maid is ill, and she has to take her place, but she fairly drives me to my wits' end." Tea was soon over, and then Claude and Stephen retired into the drawing-room, lighted a cigar each, and sat far into the night talking of past experiences.

Chapter II

A FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT. In the evening of the following day, Claude and Stephen sat together iu the drawing-room. Outside, the moon was shining gloriously. The air was soft and fragrant, for a gentle rain had fallen in the morning, and refreshed the dried, baked earth, and quickened by its crystal bath the growth and luxuriance of nature. Claude got up, looked at his watch, and went to the window. " It's a beautiful night," he said. " What do you say to a stroll ? It's only about half-past nine." " I'm ready," replied Stephen, gaily. " Fresh air and exercise constitute the panacea for all human ills." They linked arm-in-arm, and stepped out into the moonlight night. Outside it was lovely, with scarcely a breeze astir, and as still and solemn as the shadow of death. The trees and houses looked weird and fantastic in the yellow light of the risen moon.

A rill of running water jingled musically against the pebbles and stones that lined its bed, while a solitary bat flew on swift wing beneath the many trees that surrounded the house. Mr Blackwood had built Ryhill some few years before he died. It was a charming house, standing back from the road, prettily situated, remarkably cheerful and suggestive of solidity, comfort and good taste. It was ensconced in a perfect mass of foliage — flowers, shrubs, trees, all growing lavish ancl beautiful. Claude always called it a gem of a place, and undoubtedly, to the eye of the artist who loves rusticity and beauty, or to the soul of the man who loves calm and comfort, Ryhill was a most desirable spot. The town of Eastville was a remarkable place, historic in origin, modern in build, except the central part of it, where the streets were old, narrow and irregular.

There was no place for its size so aggres sive in commerce, so spirited in public action, or so alive to the changing needs of a democratic age. It boasted of an antiquated church — commodious, massive and picturesque. There was a splendid Literary Institute, with every accommodation and books enough to satisfy the capacious soul of any bookworm under the sun. Books in paper, cloth, boards, half-calf or morocco. Novels, Poems, Histories, Epics, Biographies, Plays, Sermons and Theologies — a mountain pile of them touching the very heaven above in the range and grasp of practical information and wisdom. There were two flourishing political clubs— one Tory, the other Liberal— both palpitating with people ready, in debates and speeches to die for the State and to freely cut off their right hands for the social and political redemption of their fellows.

There was a People's Park well laid out with flower beds, neatly trimmed paths and close cut velvety lawns. As regards public buildings. there was a Technical School, large and imposing, the Public Baths, Museum and Court House. There were Yachting, Lawn Tennis, Cricket and Football Clubs, and just recently there had been started a Golf Club on the hills outside the town. Altogether, it was a model place, thoroughly modern, with a dash of the antique ; its people well-fed, well-dressed, prosperous and happy. Claude and Stephen walked on at a brisk rate, engaged in a lively conversation. Passing out of the front gate they turned to the right, and went down a broad road leading to the outskirts of the town. " Nice place, Eastville," said Stephen, puffing leisurely at a cigar. " Very," responded Claude.

" Indeed, to my mind a unique town for its size." " How many inhabitants ? " "Nearly twenty thousand, I think, and rapidly increasing." '• What is the staple trade ? " There is no one particular industry, but a com bination of trades — chemical works, flannel mills, rope factories, and just recently a large lace mill has been opened." " A lace mill," repeated Stephen, with real in terest. " Jolly good paying business that, Claude." " I believe so. A rich man — Mr Dan Windsor, I think his name is — has recently settled in the town, and — what's the matter, Stephen?" asked Claude, somewhat alarmed, for his cousin's arm was trembling, and his face was very pale. "Nothing, Claude," gasped Stephen, makinga supreme effort to control himself " I'm sometimes troubled with spasms. I shall be all right soon."

They were just passing a fine red brick house called Fir Hall, which stood a short distance from the road. A massive iron gate opened into a carriage drive, which led up to the main entrance. To the right was a clump of trees, on either side of the drive some more trees, making a splendid avenue, while on each side of the gate the hedges were high and bushy. The moon was now shining with redoubled radiance, revealing every tree and hedge, gate and house, with vivid and day-like clearness. Everything was still and solemn, for no one was stirring but our two heroes. What faint breath of wind there had been had almost died away. " Hope you're better ? " said Claude, in a sympa thetic tone. « Yes, I—' The sentence was not finished. Instead, a shrill piercing cry broke the death-like silence of the night.

" What's that? " gasped Claude in alarm. Stephen Leslie never spoke, but stood like a man petrified. Claude looked round eagerly, but saw no one. " It was a woman's voice," he said, looking at Stephen in astonishment. His cousin neither moved nor spoke. He stood, the very image of despair, looking through the big iron gate opposite. Claude looked too. Then came a revelation. By the moon's clear and radiant light, he beheld a young lady, evidently about two-and twenty, standing like a marble statue right in the middle of the carriage drive. She was tall ancl slim, and surpassingly beautiful. Her eyes seemed to flash like a basilisk's, and were fastened with awful fascina tion upon his cousin Stephen. She heeded nothing else ; saw nothing else. Indeed, to Claude, in his excited state, she seemed like something supernatural.

There she stood, erect, elegant and ethereal, lovely in form and feature ; and yet her look was full of a nameless horror — a wild, Byronic sternness. A strange thrill passed through Claude, a mingled thrill of admiration and dread. Admiration of her great beauty. Dread at her wildness and flaming eyes. What could be the cause of the shriek, or of the undefined look of dread on each face, he could not divine. Wild thoughts darted through his mind — torturous thoughts of suicide, murder, dark plots and love gone mad. In the meantime, the female figure, drawing a little nearer to the gate, raised its finger, ancl pointing straight at Stephen, said, iu a voice replete with fire ancl passion, — ■ " Oscar Day, is that you? " Claude looked round almost instantly, but Stephen had disappeared, and was moving rapidly along by the side of the tall hedge.

Claude felt dazed and bewildered. The wonder, the face in the moonlight, the living dread, the piercing cry, the passionate voice and the hasty retreat of Stephen, baffled and completely unnerved him. He looked again at the girl on the drive, ancl to his utter consternation heard a quick succession of faint, gurgling gasps, and then saw her fall full length on the ground. Scarcely knowing what he was doing, or what impulse moved him, he dashed to the gate, pulled it open, and in a moment was by the side of the unconscious figure. He raised her head, lovely in its repose, and let it rest on his knee. Great beads of perspiration stood b upon his brow, and, strong man though he was, he shook like an aspen leaf. " Are you ill ? " he asked in a tremulous tone. She made no reply to his remark. She lay there as rigid and lifeless as a corpse.

He raised her head a little more, and in doing so his face touched hers, and the touch was like a thrill of life. Somehow — was it by the wand of magic or by the creative im pulse of some Higher Power? — he felt himself carried away by the energy of a new feeling that stirred in his heart. It came, swift as the light, and held him, and he was powerless, like a wild horse lassoed on a prairie. The talisman was a beautiful girl, with an attractive face, a lissom form and a magnificent head of hair, and, in a moment, his dislike for women was driven out by the incoming tide of a new and holier feeling. " Are you hurt ? " he asked again, bending down and speaking into her ear. But she neither moved nor spoke. The eyelids were sealed as by the hand of death. Claude grew more alarmed. Alone, unnerved and full of fear, he was at his wits' end.

He looked round — up the drive — through the gate — not a soul was stirring. "Heaven help us," he exclaimed, with some emotion, " what should I do ? Should I carry her into the hall 1 " A moment later, however, a shudder passed through the lithe frame, and then the eyelids slowly opened. " Where am I ? " she cried in affright. " Keep that man from me. Do, please. Oh ! I am so upset." " Don't be afraid," Claude answered tenderly. " Can you get up, do you think ; or should I call some one from the hall ? " " No, please don't," she pleaded earnestly. " I shall be all right again soon." Claude assisted her to rise, ancl waited for her to speak. What an electric face, and what eyes ! He was entranced, thrilled through and through with an undefined passion. He was puzzled. Account for it he could not.

It was beyond his logic. All at once, in the twinkling of an eye, like a sudden shock or a flashing revelation, his callousness, indifference and reason even seemed swallowed up in the deep sea of a new and absolute feeling. Presently she spoke. " Thank you ; I feel deeply grateful to you," she said, looking him full in the face. " I shall be all right now. Will you promise me one thing ? " "What is it?" asked Claude eagerly, feeling at that moment grandly heroic. " This," and she let her voice drop to a thrilling whisper. " That you say nothing to any one of what has occurred to-night." " I promise," said Claude decisively, caring little just then whether this was the right thing to do. " Thank you, oh ! so much," she said, in a voice that set his heart beating wildly. " And now may I ask your name?

" she said, putting out a beautifully shaped hand for him to shake. " Claude Blackwood," he replied, taking her band in a frank manner. "And yours? " " Saga Windsor ; good-night." She tripped lightly up the drive, and Claude, after watching her like a man in a trance, returned to the road. No Stephen was to be seen. He looked up and down, but could not see a single person. The moon still shone with radiance, and threw an un earthly glamour over everything. " What an ad venture," thought Claude, as he walked briskly on towards home. Behind it there seemed some great mystery. The whole thing seemed inexplicable to him. Why did Miss Windsor call his cousin Oscar Day, and why did Stephen seem so filled with dread and skulk away like a thief? He blamed himself now for not asking Saga Windsor the reason of her fright.

But, in the excitement, all his wits had fled, ancl then again this young lady's beauty had made him drunk with a sweet intoxication. She had mesmerised him. Presently he reached the gate at Ryhill, and saw a faint light in the drawing-room window. Just then, a church clock pealed out the hour of night. He listened, ancl counted twelve strokes. " Twelve o'clock ! By Jove, I'm late," he said to himself, ancl quickened his pace. When he was about half way up the short drive, the moon passed sud denly behind a dark cloud, and he thought he saw a figure near a tree about thirty feet away. Was it a man? Pshaw! no. I'm nervous to-night, he thought, and passed on. Quickly he reached the front door, and rang the bell. Dinah came and let him in. " Lor', sir, the missus — " "Good-night," said Claude, and swept past her into the hall.