The Beautiful Soul

Front matter

DIGBY'S POPULAR NOVEL SERIES Crown Svo, Handsome Cloth, Price 2s. bd. each. THE MYSTERY OF CLEMENT DUN- RAVEN. By Jean Middlemass, Author of 'A Girl in a Thousand,' etc. {Second Edition.} A HIDDEN CHAIN. By Dora Russell, Author of ' The Other Bond,' ' Footprints in the Snow,' etc. (Second Edition.) DR JANET OF HARLEY STREET. By Dr Arabella Kenealy, Author of 'Molly and Her Man-o'-War,' 'Some Men are Such Gentlemen,' etc. (Sixth Edition with Portrait.) THE JOLLY ROGER. By Hume Nisbet, Author of ' Her Loving Slave,' ' Bail Up,' etc. With Illustrations by the Author. (Fifth Edition.) \* Othtr Works in same Series in due course. DIGBY, LONG & CO., LONDON. BY FLORENCE MARRYAT Author of " Fighting the Air" "I/er Father's Name," "A Fatal Silence " " There is no Death" " The Nobler Sex" " How Like a Woman," etc., etc. LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET PART THE FIRST— SPRING

Chapter I. The Accident

It was not quite fair of Miss Hetherington's female friends to call her ugly — no face can be really ugly that bears the impress of an un selfish and generous soul — but at the same time no one could have said she was handsome. Her grey eyes were small, though set wide apart in a broad, low forehead — her nose was heavy — her mouth large — her hair in no abundant quantity and of an ordinary brown. But in compensation for these personal dis advantages, she possessed a fair and delicate complexion, a set of wholesome white teeth, and a tall and graceful figure. And you must add to these a heavenly expression. Felicia A Hetherington's smile was "sweetness, long drawn out." When you had once seen it in its completeness, it haunted you. It was her soul that shone through her eyes at such moments and made her beautiful.

But few people saw it — few ever saw her smile — for though rich and her own mistress, she was not a happy woman. Left an orphan at an early age, she had been brought up by attendants and schoolmistresses under the supervision of her grandfather, who considered he had done his whole duty towards her by dying and leaving her all his pro perty. At twenty-one Felicia Hetherington had found herself the possessor of a town house and a country house, with an income of five thousand a year — and not a near relation in the world. She was very lonely then and she was very lonely now. She had had plenty of suitors, notwithstanding her plain features, but she had been unable to bring herself to take an interest in anyone of them, and, at thirty-five years of age, she was still unmarried and likely to remain so.

As we see her first, she is leaning back in her carriage, driving up and down the Row in the height of the London season, looking infinitely bored. That sort of thing did not suit her tastes at all. She would much rather have been in the fields at Cheshunt, tossing the sweet-smelling hay, and talking merrily with her farm-servants. But wealth brings its inconveniences with it, as well as its pleasures, and her friends said that it was part of her duty to show herself in town during the season. But Miss Hetherington hated the ordeal. She felt more lonely and unloved in a crowd than when she lived in solitary state at Cheshunt. That was the secret of her unhappiness, though she was too unselfish to let her private feelings obtrude themselves for the annoyance of her friends. Felicia Hetherington had no one to love her !

She was necessary to the happiness of no one — nobody held her first in their thoughts and wishes. Of course, with such a fortune, she had plenty of, what the world calls, friends. She could have filled either of her houses at a moment's warning. When she issued cards for an evening's amusement, her rooms were crowded with an eager mob, all pushing their way to her supper tables and vying with each other to empty her dishes of lobster salad and bottles of champagne. Did she ask anyone of them down to Cheshunt for a visit, she found they enjoyed themselves so much that it was with difficulty she got rid of their company again ; but such association did not satisfy her yearning for companionship — such a different thing from company — no one of her acquaintances gave her their real confidence — she owned none of their hearts — she was nothing in their lives but a hostess.

In her humility Felicia Hetherington attributed this to her plainness of features and manner — in reality it was due to her reserved and retiring disposition. There was hardly a creature in the world who spoke openly to her, except her old chum and school-mate, Frances Cuthbert, also an unmarried woman of about her own age, but of whom she saw far less than she would have liked to do on account of Miss Cuthbert living in Wales and having an aged mother to look after and attend to. Her loneliness pressed harder than usual on Miss Hetherington to-day, chiefly perhaps because it was unusually fine and she pined for the green fields and shady woods of Cheshunt. Most people who saw only the externals of her life would have voted her a most enviable person. Rich — healthy — and her own mistress — no one to control her, or object to what she might do — able to marry if she elected so, as undoubtedly all women with a handsome jointure can — most of her sex would have imperilled their immortal souls to change places with her.

And as we generally envy that most which we have no chance of attaining, so Felicia Hether ington would have given all she possessed to be a labouring man's wife, if by that means she could have secured Youth and Beauty, with the certainty that she was loved for herself alone. As she thought of all this, on this bright May day, she sighed heavily. It was nothing to her that the cushions she lay back on were of satin damask, and that the united wages of the two servants on the box of her carriage would have kept many a family in comfort. She gazed out on the panorama of Folly and Fashion which was passing in review before her, and felt sick of the degradation to which her sex can lower itself in the cause of Mammon. Painted-up old dowagers, with their hair glis tening like brass candlesticks in the rays of the summer sun, and their lined and withered cheeks ruddled with rouge and pearl-powder — young women, whose faces needed no such aids from Art — Heaven save the mark ! — with the natural expression of them stamped out by the same means — and both arrayed in whatever monstrosity Fashion demanded of them, and with all their souls — such as they were — sunk in their dress and their cosmetics.

There they went, a long procession of fools — their carriages crawling after each other, whilst they criticised the passers-by through eye-glasses of which they had no actual need. All at once the sickening futility and degrada tion of the whole concern seemed to strike Felicia forcibly, and with a sudden jerk to the check string she ordered the carriage to leave the Park and proceed towards home. She was near the Marble Arch at the time, and the coachman turned his horses into Park Lane en route for her town house in Norfolk Street. When he had reached about half way he came to a dead stop. "What is the matter?" demanded his mistress> putting her head out of the carriage window. "A block, ma'am," replied the footman, who had dismounted. " I think there's a haccident of some kind." "An accident?" echoed Felicia, whose kind heart was always ready to sympathise with and help the unfortunate.

"Is it a child, Edward? Has it been run over?" " I think it's a gentleman, if you please, ma'am. They've got him up there, against the railings. He seems very badly hurt, if he ain't dead. Here's the policeman come along to him." "Open the door. Let me get out," said Miss Hetherington quickly. She pushed her way through the crowd of boys and dirty people who had collected at the first note of alarm, and went up to the injured man. He presented a terrible spectacle. Quite unconscious, he was lying limp and helpless against the Park railings — his features indistinguishable from blood and dust — his head bowed upon his chest — his dress torn and soiled. One constable was supporting him as well as he was able, when another came up. " Fetch a stretcher, as quick as you can," said the first to the second.

" Here's a case for the hospital, if he ain't gone already." " Looks like it," remarked the other. " How did it happen, Bill?" " Trying to cross atween a 'bus and a wagon. I've got their numbers ; but 'twas all his own fault. He's bin a bit too sharp this time." " If he's alive, he won't live to reach St. George's," said his comrade. Felicia edged her way up to their side. " My carriage is close at hand," she exclaimed ; " pray make use of it to take the poor man to the hospital, constable. It may be life or death for him if you wait for a stretcher." "Why, certainly, ma'am, so it may," replied number one, "but I'm afraid he'll sile your cushions." " Oh, never mind the cushions," cried Felicia, with her usual unselfishness, "only be very careful how you lift him in. Is his leg broken, poor fellow ?

" " Don't know, ma'am. I think he's pretty well smashed up altogether. The 'bus was right atop of him." The tears came into her kind eyes as she heard the low moan which issued from the lips of the wounded man, as the policemen raised him between them and carried him to her carriage, where, much to the disgust of Edward, expressed by half-closed eyes and a stiff lip, he was laid bleeding and dusty on the satin cushions. One of the constables got in with him, and Miss Hetherington took a seat at the back of the carriage. The journey to the hospital had to be made at a foot's pace, and Felicia had ample time to scan the features of the unfortunate man who had been so unexpectedly cast upon her care. She could see that his pale face, begrimed as it was with dirt and blood, was quite young, and that his torn clothes were those of a gentleman, or a man in the position of one.

Who was he ? — she wondered, as she looked at the handsome classical features and the long lithe limbs of the young stranger. Had he a mother and sisters ? and how terribly alarmed they would be to hear of his sad accident — how wretched if it should culminate in death ! He seemed to be dead already, for the first movement of the carriage had made him relapse into per fect unconsciousness, and when they reached the hospital and he was carried into a room on the ground floor, the surgeon who examined him appeared to think so too. " Is he gone ? " exclaimed Miss Hetherington, who had followed the little procession into the room. " How far is he injured, doctor ? " The assistant-surgeon turned as she spoke and asked her if she was any relation of the injured man. " Oh, no ! I never saw him before ; but I happened to be on the spot when the accident occurred, and so I brought him here in my carriage.

But I hope he will recover, poor fellow ! " " It is impossible to say until he has been properly examined ; but I am afraid there is little hope of him," replied the surgeon, as lie gave orders for the young man to be carried up to the accident ward. Miss Hetherington approached him with her purse in her hand. "If there is any comfort he may have, that I might pay for, doctor," she commenced — but he waved her aside. " He will receive every attention here, madam," he replied, " and the patients are not permitted to have anything more than the hospital provides for them — at all events at first. By-and-by, perhaps, should he survive — " " I beg your pardon," she said with a vivid blush, as she hurriedly put away her purse, " but he appears to be a gentleman, and I have more than I require for myself."

" We are always grateful for subscriptions," said the surgeon shortly. " Oh, yes ! of course, I forgot that," said Felicia, and then she asked more timidly : " Can I hear how he goes on ? Will it be allowable for me to call and enquire ? " " Certainly, madam, and on visiting days you will be admitted to see any patient in whom you have an interest, when they are declared fit to receive their friends. Good morning." And with that he departed in the pursuit of his duty, and Miss Hetherington returned to her carriage and drove back to her house in Norfolk Street. She could not, however, easily dismiss the idea of the unfortunate young man from her mind, and the next time she saw her friend, Mr. Sel wyn, she told him the whole history. Felicia Hetherington was a peculiar woman. With the exception of Miss Cuthbert, of whom she saw but little, Mr. Selwyn, a tall, gaunt widower of sixty years of age, and erudite proclivities, was her most intimate friend.

Many people said that Mr. Selwyn was after Miss Hetherington's broad acres and ample income, and that their intimacy would assuredly end in a match ; but if Mr. Selwyn entertained any such idea, it was quite unknown to his lady friend. She was fond, indeed, in a way, of his young daughter, Mabel : chiefly because it pleased her father to see her noticed, and partly because the girl was a ray of sunshine in the house in Norfolk Street, which was gloomy enough in itself. But Felicia's interest in Mr. Selwyn's friendship arose purely from the pleasure she derived from hearing him talk on scientific subjects, and helping him, by means of her money, to bring some of his discoveries to perfection. She was always weighed down by the thought of the responsibility laid upon her, by reason of her wealth and the necessity of sharing it with her fellow-creatures.

She had given up all hope of bestowing it on one only. Fate and her personal disadvantages were against her, she used to say sadly, and she could never be so selfish as to spend it all on herself. And she had a strong, enquiring mind, that could understand and be interested in Mr. Selwyn's discoveries, fancied or otherwise, and thought it would benefit the whole world by helping him. This was the sole basis of her intimacy with the old scientist, who used to stroll into her drawing-room most even ings after dinner, and was always welcomed as a relief to her loneliness. On the day following the accident, Felicia was naturally full of nothing else. It is enough to upset most women to witness such a thing, though she was not unused to horrors in the country, where she was the first always to offer assistance in cases of illness or distress.

" Such a handsome young fellow, Mr. Selwyn," she began, "and dressed in quite a good suit of tweed. I feel sure he is a gentleman. What a terrible state of anxiety his people must be in ! There was no card in his pocket, or any indica tion of who he was, for the surgeon looked for that the first thing. He may die there and no one be ever the wiser. Does it not seem sad ? " " Very sad altogether," responded Mr. Selwyn ; " but I should think they are sure, sooner or later, to gain some clue to his identity. If he has friends in London, they are certain, when they find him missing, to make enquiries at the hospitals. At least I should think so." " But if he should have no friends in London, Mr. Selwyn. So many lads come up from the country now-a-days to try and make their fortunes. He may die in the hospital, poor fellow, and be buried like a pauper.

It is shocking to contemplate!" said Miss Hethering ton, closing her eyes with a shudder. " You must not dwell on so sad a contingency. Let us hope the case seemed worse than it really is. Shall you hear how it turns out ? " " Oh, yes ! I shall go to get news of him the first thing to-morrow. I feel so very much interested in him ! He is not a common man, I am sure of that ! And he seems to have been thrown on my care in a way. He may lose the appointment by which he lives by lying in St. George's. I shall feel bound to see that he starts fresh in life ; I am sure I could not find a better subject for my assistance." " I am sure the young man, whoever he may be, could not have found a better friend, Miss Hetherington. If he survives his accident I shall consider him a very lucky fellow. But come now, let us try to think of something more cheerful.

I have a little surprise to communicate to you, in which I hope you will take an interest. Mab has completed a short tale, which has been accepted by the ' Suburban Magazine.' What do you think of that ? " " Mab has written a story and it has been accepted ! " cried Felicia Hetherington. " Oh ! I am very glad, and I congratulate you, Mr. Selwyn. I know how anxious you have been that dear Mab should be able to render herself self supporting. But this success has come sooner than you expected." " Yes ! " said the other, with a sigh, " it has been a little secret between Mab and me for some time past ; but we decided not to tell any of our friends about it, not even you, dear Miss Hether ington, until we felt that the dear child was fairly on her feet. You know that it is imperative she should do something to support herself, for I have nothing to leave her when I die, and if she had proved to have no taste for literature, she would have been compelled to go into the Post Office or become a telegraph clerk.

But I think tin's little success has settled the matter, and ■S Mab will persevere steadily with her writing, until she has gained a certain position for herself." " And she is sure to gain it ! " replied Miss Hetherington heartily ; " and you have such opportunities of helping her by your influence and large connection. You have what no money can buy, Mr. Selwyn — a host of friends amongst the editors and publishers in the literary world. It would have been strange if your daughter had elected to be anything but an author. I only wish I had her talent," she continued with a sigh. " It is so stupid to be able to do nothing but ride and drive." " But you have no need of doing anything, dear Miss Hetherington," said her friend. " You are one of the fortunate ones of the earth who can choose their own pursuits without any reference to their marketable value."

" In fact, I have the enviable privilege of being as great a fool as I like, Mr. Selwyn. Well, as I do not think I should have been clever enough for an author under any circumstances, perhaps it is just as well : but you must tell me the name of Mab's story, that I may get it as soon as it comes out." " It is called ' A Weird Wedding,' " replied the old man, " and it is really remarkably well written for so young a girl, for Mab will not be nineteen till her next birthday, remember. Indeed, I can't think where she learnt some of her ideas. They are so much beyond her years." " Ah ! my dear friend, whilst people like you and me are dreaming over the past, the young ones are growing up so fast that we are astonished to find that they know as much, or more than ourselves. And I always thought your dear Mab was very bright and witty.

I am not at all surprised, for one, that she has turned out a genius. Tell her, from me, that she has my heartfelt congratulations, and if she will come round and lunch with me to-morrow, she shall have them in person. Perhaps she would like to share my afternoon drive, and we will go together to enquire after the poor young man at the hospital." " Ah ! that will suit Mab exactly. She dearly loves a bit of romance, and will get all the parti culars of the accident out of you and weave a new story from them." " Very good. Tell her to come to me and I will be her next inspiration. Now don't forget. I shall expect Mab to lunch to-morrow." Accordingly the next day Miss Selwyn put in an appearance, and the two ladies spent the afternoon together. Mabel Selwyn was a very showy-looking girl, and as different to her sober minded friend as it was possible to be.

Some people thought and said that it was very impolitic of Felicia Hetherington to go about with so young and pretty a companion as Miss Selwyn, and had Felicia been made after the fashion of ordinary women, she would have seen the impolicy of the proceeding for herself. But it never entered her simple mind that this bright, handsome and rather advanced-thinking girl was a distinct foil for her maturer years, and made everything that was unattractive about herself more apparent than it need have been. To win the favour of anyone by intensifying the effect of her own personalities or manners by contrast with something less pleasant, was unknown to Felicia Hetherington. She saw that Mab Selwyn was pleasing to look at and to listen to, and that was the very reason that she liked to associate with her, and to procure her company for the delectation of her friends.

Besides, her father was not able to give her many pleasures, so she came under the category of those neighbours whom Miss Hetherington considered it her duty to do unto as she would be done by ; which meant, in her creed, that Mab B Selwyn had the free run of the house in Norfolk Street and the use of every luxury which her friend enjoyed. She was not a lovely, nor a very lovable girl, but she was fatally attractive to the other sex, nor was Miss Selwyn ever happy unless she had a man to attract. Reared without a mother's care, and by a father who thought more of his studies than of his daughter, Mab had grown up in her own fashion, reading her own choice of books and forming her own ideas, without taking the advice or asking the assistance of anyone. By this means she had imbibed many notions which, if they had placed her on her feet in the literary world, at a time when most young authors are only feeling their way, had also filled her mind with a great many ideas unfitted for so young a woman.

As for Felicia Hetherington, for all her thirty five years, she was a baby, compared to this young friend of hers, whose red-golden hair already owed the richness of its hues to Art, and whose big eyes were not unacquainted with the use of belladonna. But of these things Miss Hetherington was in utter ignorance. The two ladies drove together in the afternoon to make enquiries after the hero of the accident — Mab expressing the greatest curiosity to see him, after Felicia's description of his personal appearance. The hospital report was very unsatisfactory. No. 33 in the accident ward had smashed his right ankle — received severe injuries to his head and spine — and was still unconscious and in a high fever. The doctors would say nothing for certain, but evidently had no great hopes of him.

" And have no discoveries been made to tell who he is, or to whom he belongs ? " asked Felicia of the nurse who gave them the infor mation. " None whatever," was the reply ; " there's no marks on his linen, except initials, nor nothing in his pockets." " How sad ! " she said, her kind eyes filling with tears. " He may die here, without a friend near his bedside. It seems an extraordinary thing that his absence should not have been noticed." " Perhaps he has no relatives in London — we have many such cases," replied the nurse, " but if he dies, it will probably be without recovering consciousness, so that he will not miss them." " Well, if there is anything that can be done for him, out of the common way, remember that I hold myself responsible for it, nurse. Don't let the poor young fellow want for any comfort that money can procure."

" It is very good of you, madam, I am sure," said the nurse, who was duly impressed by the magnificence of Miss Hetherington's equipage and its appointments. Felicia and Mab talked of almost nothing but the mysterious stranger and his misfortunes for the rest of the drive ; and from that day Miss Hetherington sent a messenger regularly to ascertain how he was going on. For some time there was no difference. Then came a return of consciousness, and the fear regarding the brain was relieved. His whole condition, however, was so critical that the surgeons could not operate on the ankle, and the spine had received such a concussion that the patient could not be moved in bed. He had given the doctors his name as Nasmyth, but said he had no friends in London and belonged to no regular profession.

He was one of those unhappy waifs of society then, who are entirely dependent on themselves for their living. This fact, instead of repelling, increased Felicia's in terest in him, and as soon as the authorities permitted her to do so, she commenced to send him little presents of flowers and books, with kindly messages. And one day there came a note to tell him that he must not be unhappy or ill at ease about the future, for Heaven had raised up friends who would help him on his way as soon as he should be able to take up the burden of life again. These messages and presents greatly amazed Archibald Nasmyth, as indeed they might, con sidering that no one had ever taken the slightest interest in him before, and as he was well enough to notice them he became very curious to learn who it was who showed him so much kindness.

" Who is it that sends me these lovely flowers and kind messages, nurse ? " he enquired ; " and who is ' F. Hetherington,' who signed this letter ? " " Oh, that's the lady who brought you here in her carriage the day as you met with your accident," was the reply he received. " She is a very rich lady, I should say, to judge by her carriage and horses, with her servants dressed in tip-top liveries. She ain't particular young, but she seems to think a deal of you, all the same. I thought she might 'ave known you before, or be a haunt or cousin of yours, for she have sent regular to ask how you was agoing on since the day she brought you here, and these flowers and picture papers they all come from 'er." " How very strange ! " murmured the patient, as he languidly inhaled the odour of a bunch of hot-house roses which he held in his hand.

" I don't know a lady in London, and few people would take so much trouble about a perfect stranger." "Oh, I don't know about that," responded the nurse, who was rather taken by the good looks of her charge, and disposed to be jealous of Miss Hetherington's attentions to him ; " it's better to be born lucky than rich, they say, and these City ladies are apt to take their little fancies. They tell me that, when she brought you here, her carriage cushions, which is made of grey satin damask, was all stained and dirty with the blood and the mud off your clothes ; but when some one remarked what a pity to see 'em ruined in that way, this Miss Hetherington says, ' Oh, what does it matter ? I can think only of the poor young man.' That's what comes of being a decent-looking fellow. I bet if you'd had a turned-up nose and red hair you might have whistled afore any fine ladies would have driven here with a couple of 'orses to ask how you was !